


The Princess and The Banker

by eliza_doolittlethings



Series: The Princess and The Banker [1]
Category: Sherlock TV, sherlock tv au
Genre: Charles Baskerville, F/M, Henry Baskerville - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliza_doolittlethings/pseuds/eliza_doolittlethings
Summary: The story takes place in medieval Wales.Molly’s father the King of Pembrokeshire is under threat by King Moriarty of Ireland. To protect Princess Molly she is whisked away under the protection of the Holmes brothers, first Sherlock and then Mycroft. Her travel broadens her horizons and makes her a stronger person. But is she strong enough to stand up to the forces working against her and her realm and strong enough to claim her heart’s desire?





	1. The Beginning of a Journey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brooklyn09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklyn09/gifts), [egmon73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egmon73/gifts), [Mm_jay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mm_jay/gifts).



> I would like to thank Lavender_and_Vanilla for tirelessly reading all my edits these past few months, putting up with my insecurities and helping me write this work of fiction that has been an obsession of mine.
> 
> I gift this work to Lilynevin [brooklyn09] who has been an inspiration to me, encouraging me to post here.
> 
> I need to add that egmon73 and Mm_jay have done wonders to my morale!
> 
> Also, rectorredux from Tumblr helped me in making the whole fiction more Welsh - especially the names.
> 
>  
> 
> \--------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> This is a work of fantasy set in an historical AU which combines fact and fiction for the purpose of the story. 
> 
> It is a work based on the BBC Sherlock Series - all of the major characters are drawn from the series, while also being inspired by Game of Thrones characters like Mark Gatiss' Tycho Nestoris and also Charles Dance's Tywin Lannister.
> 
>  
> 
> \-------------------------
> 
> The characters are not my own, but belong to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. 
> 
> \-------------------------
> 
> I apologise for any mistakes. All are mine. I am not a native English speaker and have struggled to make the story sound as believable as possible. Have always admired Welsh lore and hopefully I can add details as the story grows to make it feel more authentic. Do feel free to correct me. I promise to do my best.
> 
> \-----------------------
> 
> I should add the reason for the links*:
> 
> 1\. Pembroke Castle - picture
> 
> 2\. Molly/Malle - Behind the Name/Welsh
> 
> 3\. Edward/Eadweard - Behind the Name/Welsh 
> 
> 4\. ap Owain - wiki
> 
> 5\. Barn House - picture
> 
> 6\. Mycroft - picture {Game of Thrones - eventhorizon451/tumblr}
> 
> 7\. Wales - Map {for reference}
> 
> 8\. Pembrokeshire - wiki
> 
> \---------------

####  Act - 1

###  ** _Chapter 1 - The Beginning of a Journey_ **

####  _[[Pembroke Castle ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/tortoiseshell_cat/29018683753/) (1*)- Day 1] _

 

 

[Molly/Malle](https://www.behindthename.com/name/molly)(2*) woke up to the nudge on her shoulder and the whisper in her ear - recognising the voice - “My Lady! Wake up. Wakeup! We’ve to leave!”

 

It was Mary, her maid , her guard, her childhood companion. Someone she, and her father trusted with their life.

 

Something was _definitely_ wrong.

 

Silently Malle allowed Mary to bundle her into the clothes of a man - shirt, trousers, boots, cloak. They took the secret stairs behind her wardrobe. It led to an underground passage and into the woods behind the castle.

 

A hackney was waiting for them. As Malle climbed into the back she heard Mary whispering to the man beside the horse. Closely watching, she recognised the silhouette - it was Sir John, second in command to Captain Lestrade, the King’s commanding officer.

She desperately wanted to ask them why he was not with her father, the King, protecting him! But knew she was expected to follow, not ask questions and cause a delay.

 

Only 14 yrs old, Lady Malle Hooper, far more intelligent and capable than any of her friends, although timid, always rose to the occasion.

 

Not that she had any _\- friends!_ They treated her with respect, for after all she was the _Princess_ _of_ _Pembrokeshire_ , only daughter of King [Edward/Eadweard](https://www.behindthename.com/name/eadweard)(3*) Hooper [ap Owain.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Owain_Gwynedd)(4*)

 

Even if most of them felt that she was not normal, with her obsession with taking care of injured animals, reading books on medicine and death! Death! She seemed fascinated by poisons and decomposition of the body. That was definitely not normal!

 

Malle’s thoughts of her life in the castle were turned to the movement of the hackney. Mary had joined her in the back, and they were off in a hurry. She was jolted from side to side but held onto the beam passing along the canvas roof. Her thoughts strayed to the castle, to her father. Shutting them down, she concentrated instead on the twists and turns of the path ahead.

 

The forest was her only friend, with Mary as her companion, while she explored - memorising plants from the hefty books that Mary carried in a small cart, as Malle searched for specimens to use in the small room her father had ordered to be set up for her.

 

He loved his daughter, all the more when her mother had passed away from a fever that had taken more lives in his kingdom than any battle. His feelings of loss though hidden was obvious to his quiet daughter.

 

Malle was determined to find the cause for this ‘plague’ that had taken so many precious lives. And her father indulged her, much to the discomfort of his councillors - who thought that a Princess’ role was to be presentable in court, and make a good Queen when the time came.

 

Half-way through the journey Malle started losing the orientation of the path. They were heading deeper into the woods - farther than she had ever been. Slowly the rocking of their vehicle lulled her into a doze that she found hard to resist.

 

The need to remain alert, study the path, note the relevant landmarks that would help her re-trace the way back to the castle was a force of habit - memorising everything that fell within her field of vision. Not that she did not trust John or Mary.

 

Unsure for how long she had fallen asleep, Malle woke to the whispered arguments of her companions and decided to get out and see where they were. It was still dark, they were at the border of the woods, and all she could see ahead was fog.

 

Her movement had alerted her guards and Mary came running to her, saying, “My Lady. Please remain inside. It is not yet safe for you to come into the open.”

 

Frustrated but practical, Malle nodded and sat inside, waiting for John and Mary to finish their discussion and continue with their journey.

 

As she cuddled into the fur blanket that was spread out on the floor of the hackney, something hard touched her head. She leapt up, silently, and focussed her gaze on the object hidden under the fur.

 

The outline was definitely familiar. It was her log-book : the one she carried with her wherever she went. All her work was detailed in it. As she slowly placed the book on her lap the hackney shifted under the weight of Mary who climbed in to join her. They started moving again.

 

Mary watched her caress the book and smiled. It was the only personal item that she could collect given the circumstances. Yet, she knew her Lady would prefer this to all the treasures her father had bestowed upon her over the years.

 

———~———

 

The slowing of the hackney woke her up. Malle watched Mary jump out and run ahead. She held the book close to her chest, seeking solace for her racing heart.

 

John slowed the horse and got down, leading them closer to what looked like a barn. He tied the horse to a pole and came to the back to help Malle get down. Seeing her questioning look, John held a finger to his lips, watched Malle nod in understanding, and led her into the barn. Settling her in a corner with the blankets and hay  around, he signalled for her to wait while he went out.

 

She was too tired to even think of a reason for all this secretiveness; and yet too curious to sleep. So all she could do was wait, even if not too patiently.

 

Trying not to fidget from cramps, the sound of more than a pair of boots on the gravel outside made her crouch into the hay.

 

“Where is she? AAh. My lady, please allow me to escort you inside,” the voice seemed to address her; deep, touching her heart like a well played sonata. Yet she did not dare peek at her interlocutor.

 

A strong hand with thin long fingers grasped her elbow firmly and fluidly pulled her up. As Malle rose up from between the hay she looked up to see a tall man with curly hair, strong chin, high cheekbones, long neck, dressed in a tight shirt and breeches and boots. Her head barely reached his chest. In the dark she couldn’t see his eyes. His breath was steady and he was watching her intently.

 

Trying to gather all information about the stranger, she did not register the other voices behind the man. Like a fog being displaced by the sun, her clouded mind cleared on hearing the slightly admonishing tone of Mary. She tried to look over the stranger’s shoulder but couldn’t budge.

 

“Well, you _do_ want me to keep her safe, don’t you John?” he asked.

“Of course we bloody do, Sherlock! But, don’t frighten her into running away! That’s not very good now, is it?” John replied.

“Hmph. She doesn’t look like the running type,” he addressed John, eyes fixed on her.  “ Shall we, Princess?” saying so, ~~the~~ ~~stranger~~ Sherlock, let go of her and walked past them out of the barn.

 

“Don’t worry. He is a Good Man. You’ll be safe here, till John can bring more news from the castle” Mary assured her Lady.

 

“What happened? Is Father all right? When will I see him again?” Malle started babbling as she was led into a small single storied house by Mary, John following them. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

 

———~———

 

####  [ [A Barn House in the outskirts of Pembrokeshire forest]](https://www.ruralretreats.co.uk/wales/pembrokeshire-holiday-cottages/cwm-bach_pm016)(5*)

 

The front door was open. As they stepped in Malle could hear the faint sound of music - violin, behind the closed door to the left of what looked like the only room in the house — there was a fire-place, next to which stood a shelf that held kitchen utensils. This was at the far right of the rectangular room, where there was a window with a ledge that had books, writing paper, and some cushions. Right in front of the fire-place was a large chair looking cozy with a rug and more books on the floor beside it. There was a large table in the middle of the room that was covered with pans and jars and more books.

 

Beside the door in the left corner of the room was a makeshift bed that looked more like a wooden board covered with a rug and a few blankets. There was a stand covered with books next to it. A candle was burning on the stand and there was a quill that was resting on a parchment paper.

 

Malle slowly realised that what was resting on top of the books was actually a skull, and, looked _human_! She had seen the remains of a baby in the forest, and Mary had mentioned that sometimes when a woman gave birth to a stillborn, the father would bury the child in the forest, and not in the graveyard of the church. This was to let the spirit of the child be free to wander in the woods and not be bullied by the other ghosts in the graveyard.

Though Malle never believed her and knew that Mary was distorting facts to hide  something, the fact was she loved fantasies and this only fuelled her imaginations.

 

As she slowly approached the skull the door opened with a bang and Sherlock moved in a flash to the pots and pans on the shelves.

“What would you like to have? Soup?”

 

John exchanged a glance with Mary. “I’ll worry about the food.”

Sherlock merely looked at him as if he were a disturbance and fell into the chair by the fire.

 

“Why don’t we get you settled, my Lady?” Mary asked Malle.

 

Malle looked at her not sure what she meant. She was led by Mary through the door to the stable right behind the house where among the floorboards was a trap door that she lifted to reveal stairs. A faint glow from below lit the stairs. Malle followed her companion down the stairs to a small room that had a bed, a shelf for clothes, a basin and a jug full of water, also a table with books and writing equipment.

 

The room had walls and floor that were covered in wooden beams — probably to keep the chill out. There were iron pipes running along the ceiling. Malle wondered what they were for.

 

“You’d best change into something more comfortable, my Lady.” Mary was already taking out a few clothes from a bag that sat on one of the shelves.

 

Malle walked over to her, held her with trembling hands and slowly turned Mary to look directly into her eyes “Tell me. You know I would rather know the truth than avoid it. Please. In the name of our friendship, if you truly are devoted to the King, please!”

There were unshed tears in her eyes.

 

Malle was never one to interfere when she knew she was expected to remain silent. But this was about her _father_ ! Her _Kingdom_! She held on to Mary’s hand as steadily as her courage permitted.

 

Mary nodded and led her to the bed. She still carried the bag of clothes. “These are John’s. Will fit you, even if a little loose. Why don’t you change first? After you’ve settled I promise to tell you everything.”

 

Sighing, Malle rose to her feet and started shedding the clothes she had hastily worn earlier in the night. “What time do you think it is?” she asked in a whisper.

 

“Almost daylight” Mary answered as she helped her remove her petticoat.

 

Mary moved to a corner where a wooden board was covering what looked like the beginning of the iron pipe that ran along the roof. Removing the lid she placed the jug of water on the iron plate that was revealed. The water slowly started heating. Mary dipped a piece of cloth in the water and gave it to Malle who wiped herself. After ensuring that she was clean Mary took the jug, closed the iron plate with the wooden lid and washed the rag in the basin. Wiping Malle’s hair with the damp cloth, Mary helped her into the clean clothes.

 

“I’ll wash your petticoat and dry it. We’ll have to improvise since there is no spare.” Mary refused to maintain eye-contact. That was not a good sign.

 

Malle sat on the bed waiting for Mary to finally run out of excuses.

 

“Lord Magnussen was heard threatening the King by John. I’m not sure about the details. John approached Captain Gregory, who’d said that the King is in his debt and owes the Lord quite a large sum. Since he’s in good terms with King Moriarty, of Snowdonia, John feels  …” Mary paused, as if she shouldn’t complete the thought.

 

“That Moriarty might attack? Like he captured Snowdonia? We did defeat him once!” Malle exclaimed. “But, Pembrokeshire is so far away! Unless he has the help of the neighbouring kingdoms …” she thought she completed the sentence in her head, not realising that she had whispered it aloud.

 

“Lord Magnussen has too many nobles in his debt. It’s not safe for you in the castle until we’re sure of his motives. Trust John. He’ll be off to the castle by now. We may have to wait for a day or two. He’s promised to get back to get us by then, if there aren’t any new developments. If it’s safe, we can return immediately.” Mary tried to reassure her, though her voice was not convincing enough for Malle’s well practised ears.

 

But Malle was a level-headed girl. She never got carried away by fanciful thoughts. “Let us go eat” saying so, she rose from the bed, determined not to give more trouble than she already had - which was inevitable, considering the fact that the fate of her Kingdom rested on _her_ head. Mary may be doing her duty, but she knew that she was more like an elder sister to Malle. She was cared for deeply, and knew that Mary would give her life to protect her Lady.

 

———~———

 

Upon entering the room, Malle realised that it was empty. Mary went over to the fire, where soup was simmering in a pot hanging from the hook over the fireplace. Carefully she ladled out a few spoons into a bowl, placed it on a table, took out a few slices of bread from a tin on the shelf near the window, and beckoned Malle to sit - by the window. Handing over the bowl of soup and bread, she filled a bowl for herself and sat beside Malle.

 

They ate in silence, Malle watching the faint traces of sunrise through the clouds that filled the sky, Mary keeping watch, expectantly.

 

Once they had finished, Mary gathered their bowls “I’ll wash up. Please rest for a few hours, my Lady.”

Malle was not sure if it was proper to occupy someone else’s bed without asking permission. “But, what about..?”

“Master Sherlock? He won’t be back till nightfall. Even then he’ll be using the cot here. The one below is a safe-place, to hide from… Why don’t you go rest. Best not know things which’ll cause unnecessary worry.”

 

Malle stared at her for a while. She knew there was more going on. But she had a way of observing and collecting facts where most people found it indistinct. Determined to be aware of whatever it was that was being hidden to protect her, Malle simply gave a brief nod and walked out the door to the stable trapdoor.

 

———~———

 

As she tossed about restlessly, unable to sleep, Malle realised that she needed to use the privy, and not seeing any commode or chamber pot, sat on the bed wondering. Finally she decided to go upstairs and ask Mary, who had not joined her.

“How long have I been asleep?” she wondered aloud.

 

Making her way out of the trap-door, she could hear Mary whispering. Wondering if she was allowed to be seen by any others who may have joined them in her absence, Malle hid behind the door.

The voices were faint. “…but you cannot take her back, and I cannot leave her here alone.” That was Mary.

“You _have_ to come, or else he’ll be suspicious.” That’s definitely John! Malle wondered how he was back so soon and that worried her.

 

Slowly she opened the door to make sure that there was no one other than John and Mary. They stopped whispering once they saw her at the doorway.

 

“Oh, m’Lady, you’re awake?” Mary hesitated, unsure of Malle’s response.

“I, …” Malle beckoned her closer, and whispered in her ear when she got to her, “I need to use the chamber pot.”

“Oh! Yes, I forgot to mention! Come this way,’’ Mary said, holding Malle’s hand “John, could you make some coffee?”

 

“Mhm” John watched them closely, not moving. Mary gestured that they’ll be back soon and guided Malle out the door behind the barn and into the trees.

 

At first Malle thought that there must be some room, then realised she was to go in the open! Of course she knew that only rich people had chamber pots and commode, but, …Well! There was a first for everything!

 

On the way Mary plucked a few leaves from a bush and as they entered a dense thicket gestured for her to go behind the bushes, thrusting the leaves into her hand.

 

When she was a child and played in the woods close to their castle accompanied by Mary and her nurse, Malle had occasionally been helped by the nurse, so it was not like she didn’t know how. Still, she worried someone may walk onto her ... No use panicking, she thought. Mary was trained to protect her. She was safe.

 

Adjusting her clothes, and coming out of the thicket, she saw Mary talking to a small boy not far off. On seeing Malle approaching, Mary gestured vehemently and sent him away. They walked in silence to the house.

 

John had made coffee and what smelt like stew was simmering in the pot above the fire. Malle sat on the cot next to the door and pretended to look at the books on the shelf.

 

Mary was whispering to John. Clearing his throat, “My Lady, ..”

 

The door opened with a thud “I am not to be the companion to a foolish girl who cannot take care of herself!” Sherlock barged into the room. “There are more important matters for me to attend to! If she is staying here, she needs to be able to look after  herself. Or you can take her with you. I have no objection.”

 

Sighing, John handed a bowl of stew to Malle, who looked at him pleadingly. He gave her a reassuring smile and walked over to Sherlock who was standing near the window. He looked more like a five-year-old, than the eighteen or so _imperious_ Master who had greeted Malle earlier that day.

 

“You do know the situation is too dangerous.” John couldn’t help the tone of impatience creeping into his voice. “She is _definitely_ capable of taking care of herself. We simply wanted you here before we left.”

 

So, the boy in the woods was sent as a messenger to retrieve Sherlock from whatever he was doing, Malle introspected.

 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can convince Lady Janine that there is nothing to be concerned about; that the princess is having a fever and needs rest. If I’m not there, we cannot say who will enter the chambers and ..” Mary tried to defuse the tension.

 

“Lady Janine is _not_ Lord Magnussen’s niece! Isn’t that _obvious_? He has sent some poor relation looking for a better life to do his dirty work! And you fell for it!! Grow a backbone and stand up to him. Or be cunning and divert his attention. Not go where he pushes you! That is his advantage. Preying on your fears, forcing you to take the easy way out. So predictable!” Sherlock was raging, spittle spraying as he paced back and forth.

 

“What d’you want us to do then? Let the woman wander around and talk to the maids. We might as well announce our plans to the bloody kingdom!” John was shouting now.

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes intently studying John’s face, puffed up with anger.

“Best get there as early as possible. No use delaying then, right?”

He turned to Malle who was cowering on the cot. “I need to use the underground room for a couple of hours. Unless you hear someone approaching, DO NOT come down,” his voice low and emphatic. With that Sherlock stalked off opening the door and shutting it with a bang.

 

Mary approached Malle who simply sat with her head bent down, unsure what to say. John held her back and shook his head. Gently sitting beside Molly on the cot, he held her hand and stated softly, “Your father knows you are safe, my Lady. We’d be at ease if you’d stay here till it’s alright for you to return. Better that you don’t know the details… in case of..” John sighed and was about to get up.

 

Malle held on to his hand and in a voice that was too steady to be confident “I will do my best. You should try and reach the castle in time.” She looked at Mary, gave a wintry smile and nodded. Mary rushed to her, hugged her tight, and was out the door without looking back. John squeezed her hands, bowed, and followed Mary.

 

———~———

 

It was close to evening, Malle was curled up on the cot, not asleep, simply exhausted from all the frenzy. She knew that she had to get up, complete her evening toilette, before it got dark, and make supper - or something to not get tired from hunger.

 

The sound of approaching hooves alerted her reflexes. As she was on her way to the trap-door in the barn, she was met by Sherlock running towards her. He caught her in time and silently gestured for her to hide below.

 

Before she could make a move a soft clear voice alerted her attention “It will be best for The Princess to accompany me home, do you not agree, Sherlock?”

 

Malle clung to the back of Sherlock, hiding, hoping that he would protect her.

 

“If you say so,[Mycroft](http://eventhorizon451.tumblr.com/post/85553707491/mark-gatiss-as-tycho-nestoris-in-game-of-thrones)(6*)!” Sherlock sneered back.

 

Hearing the reply, alarmed at Sherlock’s acquiescence to a stranger, Malle relinquished her hold. But as she tried to rush into the woods, the stranger’s surprisingly strong fingers and agile limbs held her in place. She was trembling, unable to struggle free.

 

“Do we have time to discuss this?” Sherlock asked softly.

 

“Maybe while we are on the way,” was the steely reply from the new-comer, who was already steering her towards a carriage - probably the one that ‘Mycroft’ had arrived in.

 

Sherlock was not moving, silently surveying the scene.

 

“Are you coming?” was the imperious command that made him move along with them.

 

“How long has Moriarty been aware of the new development?” Sherlock questioned the man whom he seemed to be familiar with.

 

“Hmph!” was the only response.

 

“I doubt this is your cleverest idea yet,” Sherlock could not hold back the retort; he seemed determined to irritate the man even though it was obvious that ‘Mycroft’ was the person in charge.

 

\------~------

 

Malle never felt so small in her entire life.

 

Seated between two tall imposing men, she felt more like the child she was than the Princess she was meant to be. Having seen Sherlock with John, she felt closer to him even if their interactions were minimal. Also he was handsome! Until he opened his mouth, of course.

 

“I have left instructions for John. Still, maybe I should travel to Pembrokeshire first, make sure of the situation, then get back to Snowdonia. Better to get down near the highway. _Do_ take care of her. You owe John.”

 

Malle was pulling Sherlock’s arm, no words coming out, pleading with her eyes to not leave her! It was a little too much to take in, in a single day. And nobody seemed to think that she needed to know the truth, even if not the whole truth, a part of what was actually going on. She’d rather have stayed with Sherlock in the barn-house than be on the road to … where were they going? And WHO was this balding man with the imperious nose, grizzly beard and beady eyes!

 

“You had best explain to her before leaving. I would rather not be left to deal with a hysterical adolescent,” said Mycroft, who had noticed her whimpering plea to Sherlock.

 

He was surveying both of them with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, head inclined to a side, like the ravens Malle had noticed back at the castle. The latter oblivious to the human clinging to his arm, as if to prevent him from leaving the carriage, was already planning his next move.

 

“Ah, Princess. Sorry, but I have more urgent matters to attend to. I know that I had promised John to take care of you. It would have been easy in the barn-house. But, since Moriarty has come to know of your whereabouts we better move you to somewhere safer. I have made arrangements for John to know of the details of your travel. You have no need to worry, for Mycroft’s home is safer and more conducive to your way of life …” Sherlock’s lengthy speech was cut short by Malle’s tempestuous “But I want to be with you!”

 

Startled out of his thought process, Sherlock looked helplessly at Mycroft who seemed to have a detached look, one eyebrow raised, gazing out the window of the carriage, resting his chin on his fingers, index finger to his lips.

 

With a lopsided grin and his left forefinger running down his cheek, Mycroft spoke softly, as if revealing a secret “Maybe you should have detailed the nature of the displacement from her paternal home instead of trying to comfort her with a false sense of security. After all she is not some dumb peasant girl with romantic inclinations waiting for a knight in shining armour to save her on a white horse. _Do_ consider her parentage and upbringing Sherlock.” He returned to his contemplations, gazing out at the passing twilight filled scenery.

  
This man seemed wise _and_ sarcastic at the same time. That did not help with the thought of being sent away with him. He could easily fool Sherlock and hand her over to Moriarty. Who was he and why did Sherlock bend to his domineering personality? How does  John know him? Sherlock seemed adequately familiar with this man’s home. Could that mean he was someone her father trusted? Or else why would Sherlock send her with him? After all Sherlock did promise John that he would protect her. And John never trusted someone unless he was certain of their loyalty, as loyal as John was when he trusted someone.

———~———

 

Now, Malle had studied the history of [ Wales ](https://www.walesdirectory.co.uk/maps/)(7.). It was part of her tutoring, along with all the rules and regulations that were to be followed by a princess. Her father’s kingdom - [ Pembrokeshire ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pembrokeshire)(8*), though small, stood to be one of the finest in Wales. He being a very benevolent ruler, always paid heed to his advisors and maintained good relations with the neighbours.  Snowdonia on the other hand, was a place of conflict, presently occupied by a King Moriarty from Ireland, a mean ruler, concentrating on expanding his territory, sending spies into all the kingdoms in Wales.

 

Why would Sherlock be going to Snowdonia?

 

He did mention that Moriarty knew! What? About Lord Magnussen threatening her father? Where did _she_ come into all this? Why was she being shuttled around? She may not be like the other girls her age, swooning at the sight of danger. And she definitely was _not_ hysterical as ‘Mycroft’ suggested! Still was it too much to want to know what was going to happen to her? And what was happening in her kingdom?

 

“I am terribly sorry Princess. But John could be in danger and I have to warn him personally. Of course I cannot leave you here all by yourself. And you cannot go back to the castle until we are sure of Magnussen’s intentions. He may have informed Moriarty of your departure. We cannot be sure. He has spies all over the kingdom. Moriarty is hoping to expand his captured territory as I am sure you are aware of. He is too cunning and devious to go to war with Pembrokeshire. The kingdom will be ruined from bloodshed, like the last time. The easy way would be to marry into the kingdom.”

 

Sherlock held up his hand to prevent Malle from interrupting him.

 

“Yes, you may be only 14, but that is not going to stop him from making advances. And your father is not in the right position to deter Moriarty from pursuing this course of action, considering the amount of debt accrued. We will have to make up some story for your absence from the castle. Please do not worry about it. John and I will think of something. You need to keep yourself safe in Anglesey, where Mycroft is taking you. Farther you are from your kingdom, safer are _you_ and your subjects. I am ..”

“But my father! I need to tell him!” Malle could not hold back the sob.

 

Mycroft looked down at the sobbing girl. Wrinkling his eyebrows, slowly he withdrew a snow-white handkerchief from his sleeve and placed it in her right hand, the other that covered her face almost muffling the sound.

 

Quietly exhaling into the warm cloth, Malle took a deep breath, and looked up at Mycroft “Thank you. I apologise for being an inconvenience. It is just ….”

 

“If anyone is to be blamed for this situation it is that snake Magnussen!” Sherlock could not hold back the anger.

 

“We need to keep calm to think clearly. Anglesey may be independent of the sovereigns, but, Lord Culverton reports directly to Moriarty. I may be the head of the Bank of Anglesey, yet key decisions are made only through a consensus. We need to find a way to procure something substantial to pay off the debt. And find out what _Lady_ Irene is upto! She is reported to have left Snowdonia in a hurry.” Mycroft’s voice was like that of her tutors, knowledgeable, wise and composed, thoughts rippling out like an unchecked river bank undulating after a heavy shower.

 

“Hence your sudden arrival at my hideout!” Sherlock was unable to control his irritation that had been simmering all along since the sudden appearance of the man from Anglesey.

 

“You can hardly call it a hideout, Sherlock. Magnussen’s men would have reached your doorstep by now if my men had not created a few diversions on our way here.” Mycroft’s voice was soft and silky, a self-satisfied lilt to the tone. With a wave of his hand he drove in a point that meant more to Sherlock than Malle could grasp.

 

“As we have decided on the course of action, I better be off.” Sherlock was slowly sinking into his sulking mood.

 

“As you wish.” So saying, Mycroft tapped on the roof through the window of the carriage with his cane. Sherlock opened the door and jumped out of the slowing carriage even before it stopped. Without looking back he was off into the bushes.

 

Malle strained hard to follow him with her eyes, but gave in and sat back, silent. The only sign of her restlessness was her left hand swirling the handkerchief Mycroft had offered around her right over and over again.

 

Engrossed in her thoughts, Malle was totally unaware of the silent presence of her ‘escort’, who was studying her diligently.

 

Unlike his brother, Mycroft liked to keep his musings to himself. Holding an important post as the keeper of all the wealth for the people of Wales and to a larger extent most of the Kingdom of Britain, Lord Mycroft had developed his own style of functioning as opposed to the familial tendency of spouting knowledge and advice to all and sundry. Such a trait would have been an impediment in matters of business - especially when dealing with the upper-class who were wary of intelligence, and the lower-class who were intimidated by the same.

 

Malle’s predicament was as plain as daylight. She was totally in the dark as to her future. Yet, it was obvious that the present situation demanded stealth in their operation. This was almost impossible to depict graphically to someone who was yet to experience the harshness of the outside world. Best to remain silent. After-all Princess Malle seemed to have a deeper understanding of her predicament than expected of someone her age. Mycroft was thankful for that. Good Lord! He had enough and more to deal with as it is!

 

~———~———~———~———~———~

———~———~———~———~———

~———~


	2. The Journey of The Heart(s) - Part 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Malle and Lord Mycroft are travelling unescorted in a carriage through Pembrokeshire and Snowdonia forests, on their way to Mycroft's Manor in Anglesey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The link to Anglesey - it's history, facts and such, for those who are interested.
> 
> \----------------------
> 
> Those who are natives to the land, forgive me for bending the facts to suit my fancy. The distance may not be accurate. The ride may not be possible in a single night. I've made it happen for the convenience of my plot!
> 
> \------------------------
> 
> I have divided the chapter into 2 parts to make it feel less lengthy.

###  _**Chapter 2 - The Journey of The Heart(s) - Part 1.** _

 

_ [The carriage of Lord Mycroft Holmes - that night] _

  
  


Malle knew that she was dreaming. Yet, she could not wake herself up. She also knew that though she did not want to, she should! Something about the dream felt too unreal, touching her heart in a way that she had never experienced. 

 

Her knowledge of comfort, safety and love were limited to the early years, when she was cuddled by her mother. Her father, the King, though kind, was unable to show affection openly. Like all men, he imagined that gifts said more of his love than words or physical contact.  

 

Malle was never one to complain. Seeing so many children in her father’s kingdom suffer from parental loss, poverty, manhandling, and more, she felt privileged to have been born in a castle. This early enlightenment made her a down-to-earth deeply practical girl. 

 

A Princess was always expected to behave responsibly, and her nurse had taught her that. She had inherited her father’s wisdom and her mother’s patience. Although, at times, her own impulsive nature came out at odd moments surprising her interlocutors into stunned silence. 

 

Too many thoughts rushing through her dreamy state roused her into awareness of her surroundings. 

 

The coat was soft and warm, covering her slender shoulders and delicate neck. Tucked around her neck and under her chin was a woollen scarf, smelling of eucalyptus and clove, and a unique smell that she was unfamiliar with. As she moved the coat slipped down her chest. Reaching out to grab the falling garment her hands gripped the slender fingers of her co-passenger. Not realising that she was still gripping onto his hand, Malle held the coat tightly as if her life depended on it. 

 

“If you would release me I can put the coat over your shoulders. The ride to Anglesey is long and since we cannot afford to delay by taking rest, it will be better if you make yourself comfortable. The night air will be chilly.” Mycroft’s soft voice was haunting, like a lullaby. He seemed to be looking right through her with those dark piercing eyes, face impassive. She acquiesced and let go of her hold feeling a loss that she did not feel so deeply the previous day on leaving the castle. Unable to process the emotion Malle allowed herself to be bundled up by the stranger who was becoming something more than any man in her life was - the few being her father, John, Sir Gregory and the stable boy Tim. 

 

Now there was something to ponder. What did she see in the boy? He smiled a lot, at her, whenever he saddled her horse for a ride. 

 

“Hmm..” Malle snuggled into the coat and settled herself back. The carriage was moving at a fast pace and she could not maintain her posture, for she kept sliding one way or the other. Mycroft looked at her struggling, shook his head closing his eyes, took a deep breath and moved closer, propping her up on one side of the seat, while he formed a physical barrier on her right. Thus settled, Malle slowly drifted asleep. 

  
  
  
  
  


———~———   

 

_ [Malle fast asleep - dreaming] _

  
  
  


The wind in her hair was familiar. Malle loved to ride along the woods of her castle. Mary always accompanied her. As she rode faster, her bonnet bounced to her back the tie of the ribbon forming a bow under her chin. Strands of her hair flew out of the knot that Mary had carefully coiffed. 

 

Her father had ridden with her when she was only six years old and she loved the freedom it gave. Those memories were the closest she had of a hug from her father. She could still feel the warmth. Relishing in the safety of the contact Malle turned her head to watch her father’s face as they rode towards the woods. The face was not clear. Frowning, Malle tried to clear her eyes with her hands. It was not her father. She tried to touch his face to confirm. His moustache was always big and she loved to touch it. 

 

There was no moustache. Or was there? The skin felt smoother, the hair softer, shorter, and she breathed in. Not her father’s scent - which was of tobacco and wine and a strong odour of .. maleness. This was …

“Ahem.” The clearing of the throat woke her up. As she opened her eyes, Malle realised she was caressing Mycroft’s face, who raising both eyebrows questioningly, tilted his head and looked away. Startled, she tried to jump back but hit her head on the back of the seat and stumbled forward as the carriage continued to lurch. 

 

Malle sat up, smoothed the coat and avoided her companion’s eyes. It was too embarrassing to even apologise. 

 

“Would you like some bread and wine? That is all I can provide for now. Until we reach my home.” Mycroft was bending down to retrieve a basket from under the opposite seat. 

 

Malle nodded her head, realised that he could not see her, so weakly replied, “Yes, please.”

As they shared the food in silence, outside it was growing dark and there was a gentle sound of raindrops on the carriage roof. 

The sound of rain soothed her nerves. “How far is it to ..”

“ [Anglesey](https://www.anglesey-history.co.uk/)* . About 40 miles more. We will reach there by early morning.” He sounded matter-of-fact, probably tired of her already. 

  
  


———~———

 

Mycroft had not had the chance to plan this through. The sudden knowledge of the situation in Pembrokeshire, followed by the move by Moriarty, and Irene being sent to discover Malle’s whereabouts or whatever, not to mention Janine prowling the castle! There was only so much John and Mary could do. He had to act quickly if disaster was to be averted. 

 

Taking a carriage to the outskirts of Pembrokeshire, Sherlock’s hideout - where he liked to act the Prince of Thieves, helping orphans and homeless people escaping Magnussen, was not the brightest of ideas that Mycroft had. Still, at such short notice it was the best he could come up with. They will have to change horses at the next inn, and ride on without delay. Moriarty had spies all over the land. It was safer to act ordinary, with no entourage or security men flanking them. More staff would only attract attention. 

 

And now he had a huge responsibility on his hands. The girl seemed level-headed, even though impressionable, from the way she held on to Sherlock. Not that anyone could blame her. Sherlock had that effect on girls, princesses, women. Mycroft could not fault him for his good looks. Smirking at the thought of Sherlock turning tail and running if he knew the effect he had had on Malle, Mycroft schooled his features as he became aware of the cautious glances that were being bestowed upon him. 

 

The Princess seemed quite sharp and observant. He would have to be more careful in the future. Must be guarded at all times. “Would you like more bread? Or perhaps some wine?” Trying to divert her attention from him, Mycroft reached into the basket. 

 

“Nmhmm. No. I would rather have some water, if I may.” Malle was unsure of the fleeting changes on her companion’s face. Was he worried about their journey? Or maybe he was reluctant to take up such a huge responsibility. Could it be that he was offended by her unconscious act? That was not intentional. Should she apologise?

 

“There is only one bottle. We will be stopping soon for changing horses. I will try and procure more then,” Mycroft intoned as he gave her the bottle.

 

She looked at him and then at the bottle, not sure what to do. He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow and glanced at the bottle and then at her.

 

It struck her that since there were no glasses she was expected to drink directly from the bottle. Of course she had seen men in the stables and out in the fields drink directly from a bottle. Being trained to ‘act properly’, she had never had to before. Smiling shyly, Malle accepted the bottle. Mycroft discreetly busied himself with shoving the basket back to where it was - under the opposite seat. 

 

As he sat back, Mycroft realised that she was waiting for him. “I’ve had too much wine. Best not to burden my stomach.” He gave her a reluctant smile and rearranging his jacket looked out the window, his right elbow resting on the windowsill, palm supporting his cheek.

  
  
  
  


———~——— 

  
  
  


Malle woke to the gentle prying of fingers. She had fallen asleep clutching the bottle of water between her fingers. “We have reached the inn. Please stay inside and try to be silent. I will be back shortly, with something to eat and more water.” Mycroft’s warning tone did not go unattended by her. Considering the fact that there would be people sent in search of her, Malle nodded and moved into the shadows of the carriage, where her petite figure would be well hidden. 

 

Mycroft wore his hat that was lying on the seat and moved towards the carriage door where his footman waited. “Please be careful,” Malle whispered. There were few things that had ever struck Mycroft speechless. Always prepared for a sarcastic retort, this endearment caught him by surprise. He simply nodded, eyebrows narrowed in contemplation and rushed out of the carriage, unable to withstand the onslaught of emotions that seemed to smother him. 

  
  
  
  


———~———~———~———~———~———~———~———~———

———

———~———


	3. The Journey of the Heart(s) - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief history of the Holmes family and a flashback of how John came to be an integral part of Sherlock's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this as Chapter 2 - Part 2. The heading may say Chapter 3!

###  _**Chapter 2- The Journey of the Heart(s) - Part 2.** _

 

####  _[The history of the Holmes Family]_

  


Mycroft was the eldest of three children born into a prosperous family in Wales. Yet there was far too little sibling affection. His brother Sherlock was born seven years later. Mycroft took a natural liking to the curly haired ice-blue eyed bundle of noise that kept the household active. Their parents, affluent nobles, had their own estate and his father’s grandfather, who had started the banking system for the whole of Wales, left them a substantial amount to last for generations to come. The boys were tutored at home by masters from all over the Kingdom. They enjoyed a camaraderie that was envied by many of their relatives. But, it was short-lived.

 

The birth of a sister was totally unexpected - only a year after Sherlock’s first birthday. The complicated pregnancy took the life of their mother. Mycroft was left with the responsibility of taking care of both siblings as his father was unable to fill the parental role without his better half to guide him.  

 

From birth Eurus was a quiet baby. She never cried or fussed like normal babies. Mycroft took special care that she was comfortable. But, as she grew up, there were signs that told of the mental illness running in the family. Though silent about the why, the maids and nurses entrusted to the care of the children were afraid to leave the two younger siblings alone together.

 

Mycroft’s father, too engrossed in his grief over the death of his wife, entrusted child care to their Uncle Rudy. He was of the opinion that the girl should be segregated and made to live in the ancestral home - Musgrave Hall, where she could be properly taken care of. Mycroft refused to accept this and convinced his father otherwise.

 

But, fate intervened. One day, while Sherlock was alone in the playroom, Mycroft heard a sharp cry. Running from the library, he saw a flash of brown curls pass the corridor. As he entered the room, on the floor lay Sherlock, unconscious, his hair matted with blood. The doctor was rushed in and after examining, it was confirmed that the wound was minor. Eurus was removed to Musgrave Hall.

 

Sherlock, only four years old, seemed to forget the incident as years passed.

 

On further questioning the children’s nurse detailed Eurus’ behaviour - how she would talk Sherlock into being naughty, while she remained detached from the act. There were times when the nurse caught Sherlock climbing the wall that enclosed the hounds in Baskerville Hall. When questioned, he simply said that he was curious to find out what’s inside? Or he was caught fiddling with the iron poker kept near the fireplace in their play-room.

 

All the while, Eurus was at a safe distance, watching. There never was a clear sign of interference; which was why they never reported the matter to the elder Holmes sibling.

  


———~———

  


Mycroft led a secluded life. The burden of such a dark secret made him trust no one. He knew that friends and relatives were close only for the financial and social benefits that his family provided. Once word got out of the history of mental illness, they would do everything in their power to disinherit his brother and himself. After the death of their father in a couple of years, Mycroft, at an early age of fifteen became the head of the Holmes household. He helped Uncle Rudy with the transactions. Being uncommonly intelligent for such a young boy, he was given more responsibilities and soon by the age of eighteen he took up the post as Head of the Bank of Anglesey.

 

A man in an important position in society always attracted women. Still Mycroft remained aloof. Not only was he reluctant to be close because of the family secret, but also, Sherlock took up most of his time out of work. The hit on the head from his sister seemed to have exacerbated his tantrums. He was inconsolable, attention seeking and stubborn as an ox. Whenever Mycroft was away for more than a day he got worse. As his official responsibilities grew so did the elder Holmes’ stay away from home. He had to travel for days together, meeting the nobles of society who needed constant reassurance, his attention on Sherlock waning.

 

Sherlock always had a heroic streak, rushing into danger, meddling in matters that were best left to resolve by itself. This led him to people who were cast off by society. Unable to keep still in their estate for long periods, and nobody to supervise his whereabouts, Sherlock ventured out with these derelicts, helping  them procure whatever was needed to survive in the wild.

  


———~———

  
  


After a long trip to Scotland, Mycroft came back home to a scene that brought him back to the reality that was his life. Sherlock, always in danger. Either it finds him or he seeks it. He needed constant supervision.

 

“I am so sorry sir. Master Sherlock had..” the butler stuttered to a halt as Mycroft raised his hand, silencing him without even a glance. For the sight of his baby brother bruised beyond recognition, unconscious, wearing tattered clothes that were covered in mud was enough to rob him of speech.

 

The man bending over his brother who was laid out on the recliner looked confident even if uncomfortable. Definitely one experienced in treating the injured. And it appeared that he was with Sherlock during the misadventure.

 

“Shall we move him to his chambers?” Mycroft motioned to the butler to help the newcomer carry Sherlock upstairs. Hearing him moan from the jostling, the elder Holmes could not help tighten his grip on the gold-headed cane, his gloves stretching at their seams.

 

Mycroft strode into the library, wrote a note to the family doctor, gave it to the page, then walked upstairs, deliberating the situation. How had he ignored the signs till now? This was unpardonable on his part. Something drastic had to be done.

 

“He doesn’t have any broken bones. Rib may have a crack. He’ll need bed rest. The men were a group of scavengers harassing some children out in the forest. Luckily I was on my way to town and crossed this young man fending them off. The children seemed to know where he lives and helped me bring’m here.” … “I’m John Watson by the way, second in command to Captain Lestrade of Pembrokeshire.” Extending his arm for a handshake, John was met with a cold scrutinising stare that did not deter him.

 

Reluctantly Mycroft shook hands briefly and grimacing turned away from the bed. As he walked towards the window his thoughts raced from his brother’s whereabouts at the time of the incident to the accidental presence of an officer of Pembrokeshire.

 

“You should be aware of the fact that you have come to the Holmes Manor. If you have business with the bank I suggest you meet with my secretary and make an appointment. I do not encourage discussions at home.”

 

Mycroft’s disgruntled tone was ignored by John. “I need to speak with you privately, my Lord. It’s urgent. The King trusts no-one. So I came through the forest, making sure not to be followed.”

 

“Better retire to the library then. Wiggins, inform me when the doctor arrives,”  Mycroft instructed the boy acting as butler.

 

———~———

 

Mycroft led the way down the stairs, along a long corridor to a room at the end that had double doors floor to ceiling. Opening them he walked over to the desk situated at an angle to the French windows facing the garden and started rifling through a pile of papers positioned on one side.

“If it is about the debt that your King owes Magnussen, there is nothing that I can do about it. The directors feel it is not safe to lend anymore money without surety,” Mycroft said, busying himself with sifting through what looked like correspondence.

 

“But there has to be a way. His documents are forged, for sure!” John could not contain his anxiety.

 

“Could be. Since there is no proof, eventually he will succeed in the deceit.” Mycroft did not elaborate on the fact that this was a regular occurrence and the bank thrived on the misfortunes of those who fell for the charlatan . The oppressive silence started to irk Mycroft. Looking up he could see the seething rage on John’s face.

 

Mycroft moved away from the table towards the window. Gazing at the drizzle bending the leaves he sighed, and thoughtfully said, “If you can convince the King to form a marriage alliance with one of the neighbouring kingdoms …”

 

“Oh, I forgot. This was to be given to you directly,” interrupted John as he held out a wrinkled missive that had the regal seal.

 

Raising an eyebrow questioningly, more at the man’s neglect in giving him the document immediately, than at the interruption, Mycroft delicately took the rolled parchment to his desk, broke the seal with his gold letter opener, and perused the contents.

 

His face grew darker as he read and by the end both eyebrows rose in alarm. Looking up at John it was obvious that the messenger was not informed about the details of the request in the piece of paper that the Holmes Manor’s head held in his hand.

 

As he slowly lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, John realised that whatever was written in it, was not the solution that Lord Mycroft would go for. He felt uneasy that he was more of a hindrance, not that he was even making a sound. But, it looked like Mycroft wanted to be left alone.

 

Clearing his throat “I’ve been asked to return with a positive reply by tonight” John said softly.

 

Mycroft raised his chin, eyes boring, eyebrows wrinkled. “Am I expected to make such a major decision in such a short time!?” he asked incredulously.

 

“I..” John felt the confidence in him drain.

 

“I beg your pardon. Since you are unaware of the details I shall not burden you with my tribulations. I still need to think this through. Let us deal with my brother’s health first,” Mycroft said, as he sighed, rolled his eyes and  rose from the desk.

 

Accepting the inevitable he placed the paper in the top drawer and locked it. “While you refresh yourself, I have some business to attend to.” He rang for the maid who led John towards the kitchen.

  


———~———

  


Mycroft was seated in a chair at Sherlock’s bedside when John came in search of him. It almost looked as though he was hiding from John. That thought made him wonder as to what was in the message he was entrusted with.

 

John cleared his throat delicately, “M’Lord,” with no response he continued, “I have to return. My presence is needed. Please give me leave.”

 

“There are too many factors that can go horribly wrong.” Mycroft mumbled.

John was unsure if he was being addressed or Lord Mycroft was voicing his thoughts unaware of his presence.

 

“What factors?” The voice was too low and gravely to be clear. The sudden movement of the older Holmes and the concerned query “How do you feel?” made John realise that it was his brother who had spoken.

 

Mycroft cleared his throat, and saying “You need to rest” rose from the chair.

 

“Wait. I need to ask him about…”

 

“The children are safe. I’ve seen to it that they have a guardian.” John had moved forward and was standing beside Mycroft.

 

“Thank you.” The rasping voice of Sherlock pained Mycroft. He reached over the bed-side towards the water jug, but John was faster and poured a glass of water. He placed it in Mycroft’s hands. Together they propped him up and helped him drink a few sips.

 

“I am sorry. It was foolish of me..” Sherlock could not continue from fatigue.

 

“There is no need to fret now. You are safe. That is what is important. Rest.” Mycroft covered him with the blanket and started to rise.

 

“Will he be here when I wake up?” Sherlock was looking towards John.

 

“Yes he will,” was Mycroft’s reluctant reply, sounding defeated.

  
  
  
  
  


—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—

—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—

~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~


	4. The Heartening of Soul(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Mycroft and Princess Malle encounter threats and hindrances along their passage to Mycroft's home in Anglesey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added a link to 'Musgrave Hall' - a twitter image of the original place.

###  _**Chapter 3 - The Heartening of Soul(s)** _

  
  


####  _[Back to the present - day 1, evening - Malle waits in the carriage, while Mycroft moves towards the inn]_

 

Mycroft entered the inn to the deafening noise of raucous laughter that broke his reverie. Deciding not to dwell on family matters at present, he strode over to the barman and ordered a glass of wine. Upon placing the glass of wine in front of Mycroft, the barman studied him closely and asked, “Need some company for the road?” The leering tone was enough for him to slight the man to silence, but, Mycroft knew better than to draw unwanted attention to his person.

 

Placing a gold coin on the counter, “I would like some food for the road, _and_ drinking water,” ordered Mycroft, maintaining eye-contact with a slight frown on his lips, his left eyebrow raised questioningly. Staring at the coin, the scruffy man pocketed it and disappeared behind the curtain.

 

A few minutes later, he arrived with a basket covered by a towel and placed it on the counter. Mycroft rose, raised his hat, picked up the basket and threw a few copper coins on the shelf as a parting gift, with a repartee, “For the wine.”

Smoothly making his way through the crowd balancing the precious cargo, Mycroft made it to the carriage in short time.

 

Used to travelling alone, it was a little disconcerting to see Malle anxiously awaiting him.

 

“Let me help you” she insisted, trying to disengage him of the basket.

“It is too heavy for you,” Mycroft retorted, holding on but eventually failing to do so.

 

The strong grip and determined look won out. Mycroft was unable to mask his frustration at the arbitrary intercession. While Malle lugged the basket onto the carriage floor, Mycroft settled on the opposite seat and tapped on the roof with his walking stick. As the carriage moved forward he studiously ignored looking at Malle.

 

On her part, Malle was struggling to find words to make a decent conversation. While the horses were being changed her mind was full of thoughts of apology for her behaviour - after all, she was _asleep_ , and unaware of her advances on his persona. It was purely coincidental. Sleep induced dream leading to exploring the unfamiliar texture under her palm. Surely he did not consider her wanton! She was brought up to be a responsible Lady and would never degrade her family name. The more she thought of it, the more indignant she became. And yet she could not find a way to broach the topic without feeling ashamed. A topic that would not be considered fit for a lady.

 

“You must be hungry. Shall I help you with the food?” Mycroft _seemingly_ unaware of her mental turmoil, tried to be his formal self; the armour that eased him into casual conversations.  

 

She simply shook her head, not trusting her voice. “Maybe later then?” Mycroft thoughtfully added, sensing her reluctance, yet unable to pinpoint the reason for her it.

 

While both of them settled into their respective seats the journey progressed. It was only twilight and they still had the whole night ahead.

 

Malle fell into a light nap, allowing Mycroft to glance at her profile without hindrance. She was only a child! What a huge responsibility to thrust on her gentle but firmly set shoulders. Admiring her courage and sense of responsibility, he decided that whatever it took, he would protect her. After all, the King _did_ trust his judgement. The smirk that had appeared on his face was wiped away at the thought of the danger they were getting into. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his head to free the strain in his neck and closed his eyes.

  
  


———~———

 

####  _[Somewhere in the forests along the outskirts of Snowdonia]_

 

The sudden jolt and neighing of the horses woke the travellers from their doze. There were shouts and Mycroft, sure that it was highway robbers, gestured for Malle to be silent. Malle on the other hand was positive that it was Moriarty’s men. She tried not to tremble holding on to the seat tightly.

 

The door was yanked open by a hooded figure carrying a pistol. He motioned for them to get down.

 

Mycroft exited and guided Malle down the steps without relinquishing the grip on  her arm, even once they were on the ground, as if in reassurance.

 

There were five of them. Four were men and one a woman. The woman approached them and confiscated Mycroft’s walking stick. She was admiring the gold-head and tried to free it from the wood.

 

“I would be careful with that” was his only dry comment. As Mycroft watched her, she disappointed him by slowly releasing the mechanism that freed the head from the body of the cane. It turned out to be a sword. Smiling gleefully and replacing the handle she tucked it under her arm.

 

“Sally, why don’t you give me that.” The tallest of the four men approached her.

 

“How many times do I’ave to tell you not to call me by my name!” The woman slapped him on the head, went towards the carriage where the driver was tied up and climbed onto the seat.

 

As she drove away, with the cane cane cradled between her legs,  the others led Mycroft and Malle into the shrubbery. Guided by lanterns they made their way towards the woods, then along the tree-line till they could hear a stream. Crossing the stream, they entered the woods.

 

Malle had started to slow down. It was more from fear than exhaustion. Mycroft, maintaining a steady pace, held her close by the shoulder, supporting her weight with his body. Resting her head on his chest Malle tried to calm herself listening to his steady heartbeat.

 

———~———

 

The long walk led them to a small hut in a clearing - obviously the hideout of these thugs. He should have been more careful at the inn. If they knew who he was they would have been blindfolded. Mycroft strategised their escape.

 

“Allow me to I talk to your leader. If it is for monetary gains, …” Mycroft stopped his diatribe as he realised that they had to be part of the gang of commoners that Sherlock had collected over the past few years. This could be easier than he had thought.

 

The hut had a single room and was sparsely furnished. One wooden chair by the fireplace, a bench in the corner that seemed to serve as a multipurpose area, a few shelves on the wall that held pots and pans. The other corner of the room was occupied by a round table covered with parchments and maps. The floor was bare except near the chair, where there was a small rug.

 

“Tie him to the chair. Let her sit on the cot.” The man who had addressed ‘Sally’ seemed to be in charge. “Search him for any papers and also weapons. I’ll be right back.”

 

Mycroft studied the three men who busied themselves with the instructions. He could easily take them down. But it would be foolish at this time of the night to escape into the forest with no transportation or help. He sighed and gave in to the searching hands.

 

Malle tried very hard not to bolt for the door. She was allowed to sit without supervision and knew she could make it out. Yet, somehow, leaving Mycroft did not sit well with her. As she fiddled with her sleeve the small lump of cloth inside caught her attention. It was the handkerchief that Mycroft had given to her earlier that day. Holding it to her face she breathed in the scent that helped calm her mind.

 

Looking up she saw the sudden flick of Mycroft’s head that was definitely meant to convey something, she knew for certain. Wrinkling her brows she observed the men. Then looked back at Mycroft. He shook his head from side to side almost imperceptibly. Oh! Translated the action in her mind - “do not aggravate them”. Clearing her throat gently in answer, Malle adjusted herself to get comfortable.

 

The men whispering among themselves, came to a conclusion, and one of them settled on the floor near the door, while the others went out.

 

———~———

 

Few minutes later the woman named Sally barged in, unmasked, asking, “You’re Sherlock’s brother? Why didn’t you say something?” She started untying the rope around his chair.

 

Mycroft sat silently studying the young woman, whose curls were bouncing all over her forehead. All he said was,“What did he say?” Right hand rubbing his left shoulder while his left hand fingered his waistcoat pocket. He had hoped that his staff were more loyal than that.

 

“Nothing! Almost. Was tying your coachman up to the post in a nearby barn when he muttered something like - wait till his brother hears about this. That’s when I looked at your cane! It’s head - the skull, like the one Sherlock has in his hideout.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose Mycroft exhaled deeply. “We have already lost a lot of time.”

 

“I saw some tramps skulking near the road that leads from the highway. Think they are on your trail.” Sally looked guilty. “We thought you were a good catch. With no mark on the carriage, how were we to know that you’re Lord Mycroft!”

 

“Can you provide us with two horses? It will be a few hours ride,” Mycroft paused, looking at Malle, eyebrows knitted thoughtfully, “but I think we can make it to Holmes Manor.”

 

“Oh, about that. Your house’s being watched. Shezza mentioned some other place, a ‘grave?”

 

Mycroft looked at the woman named Sally , scrutinising her expression. He was aware of the difference of opinion among the classes. His family was always caught between the royalty and the peasants; unaccepted by both strata.

 

“Yes, it is called [Musgrave Hall](https://twitter.com/SiblingSecret/status/889637341152915456). Though, maybe.. ,” pausing, he reluctantly added, “I suppose there is no other way.” Sighing, with a look of resignation, Mycroft rose from the chair, straightened his coat, and beckoned to Malle.

 

Malle simply sat staring at him. He raised an eyebrow and moved quickly towards the door.

 

“I’ll take you to the barn. They have a couple of good horses. Best not to go with you. Too many hoof sounds can attract attention,” returning his cane, Sally opened the door wide for Malle.

 

“Still, don’t you think it’ll be safer to travel upto the highway in a cart. I can hide you in a haystack. Anderson can bring the horses around without anybody noticing. It’ll be a shorter distance for the Lady to travel, yes?” continued Sally as she briskly went  outside, walking towards the man whom she had waved at - Anderson.

 

The group trudged back through the woods and shrubbery. Malle kept some distance from Mycroft. Each time she stumbled in the dark and he moved closer to give her guidance she moved away.

At first he thought that she was simply behaving like an ill-natured child. Then it dawned on him. She was not aware of his relationship with  Sherlock. Well, it was a topic that he avoided as much as he could. And, he could not be blamed for it.

 

———~———

  


Sally made them hide in the bushes, then went ahead, to scout  the area making sure it was clear. Whistling softly, Anderson replied and led them across the road to where Sally was already heading, through more shrubbery. Within the hour Mycroft could see the dim lamp light of the barn. It was a huge shed, and there was the soft movement of the horses from inside the stable next to it.

 

A cart was already loaded with hay and Sally was bringing a horse out towards it. One of the men got onto the cart and started moving some hay from the corners close to the seat.

 

“I’ll get your coachman another horse and send him ahead. You’ll be safer here close to me, under the hay. If we are stopped, they’ll search the centre and the sides. Better stick together, knees up. And put this over your heads,” she said, handing over a tarpaulin. “It’ll give you space to breathe.”

 

Malle opened her mouth, but Sally intervened, saying “You can thank me later. When all this’ over. I owe Sherlock. It’s best to get going.” She climbed onto the cart and settled down while the men helped tuck Malle under the hay.

Mycroft, with no time to ruminate on Sally’s words, or Malle’s response, followed her. They were covered by the tarpaulin, with more hay over it, and Sally set the cart off at a trot.

 

By this time the two lackeys had helped the coachman onto a horse and had ridden off leading two horses into the woods.

  


———~———

  


The horse’s steady trot made it difficult for Malle to sit straight. She kept sliding one way or the other. In the end Mycroft shifted closer and put his arm around her. She tried to resist, but the cart’s movement shifted her closer to him.

Resting her head under his chin she spoke softly “You could have mentioned something. All this time, being carted off from one person to another, like a bundle of hay. It is not that I am not used to being kept in the dark since I am a girl. Only, considering the situation, I would have felt less apprehensive.” Her hands held onto his coat as her head bounced on his chest.

 

The tarpaulin shifted and Mycroft reached out to adjust it over their heads. His nose brushed her hair and the faint smell of rosemary made him close his eyes and hold his breath, furrow  between his eyebrows pronounced.

Mycroft cleared his throat, adjusted his arms around Malle and sat silently contemplating a reply.

 

“I suppose you were too occupied to worry about how much I had been made aware of,” pondered Molly, looking up briefly. But she could make nothing of his expression in the dark.

 

However, the brush of Mycroft’s beard in her nostrils made her giggle. Mycroft looked down, lips pursed, eyes squinting in the dark, wondering what was it that this tiny creature would find funny at such a perilous moment. Puzzled, he briefly wondered if she was becoming hysterical.

 

“Why do you grow a beard?” gently touching his face, Molly asked, more to herself than questioning him.

The initial contact startled him, making him bang his head on the wall of the cart. Muttering a curse under his breath, he rubbed the area. Sighing, he said, “You need to try and rest. The journey to Musgrave Hall is tedious and you will be on horseback. Not a pleasant trip I assure you.”

 

Silenced by this reproach, Molly pulled up her knees close to her chest, held on to them and closed her eyes.

 

Mycroft regretted his words as soon as they were uttered. It was the practical thing to do. He always chose not to dwell on emotions. They were a hindrance to clear thinking and strategising.

Also, she had to grow up fast. In a few days she may become the sole person responsible for her Kingdom.

Better to be insensitive than encourage dwelling on ludicrous notions.

 

———~———

  


The sky was still dark and a slight drizzle had started when they reached the highway.

“You’re closer this way. Maybe a few hours ride. Here, take this satchel. It has bread and a water bag.” Sally handed over the strap to Mycroft who had helped Malle get down from the cart.

 

Still drowsy from the ride, Malle followed Mycroft mechanically to where the horses were tied. The men helped them mount up and then went back into the woods.

 

“Do tell Sherlock that he is needed urgently at the Manor. It is of utmost importance that he does not delay. If possible as soon as he has gathered information regarding Lady Adler.” Mycroft looked over at Malle who sat with a straight back on the saddle, more from practice than alertness, he noted.

 

“Yes, m’Lord,” Sally replied as she helped Malle adjust her legs in the stirrup. “If there is a delay I’ll make sure to inform you.”

 

Mycroft nodded in acknowledgement and steadied his horse. “Shall we, my Lady?”

 

Malle looked at him defiantly and galloped off at a brisk pace.

 

Shaking his head, eyebrows raised in bewilderment he inhaled deeply. Mycroft followed suit, contemplating the task of getting them across the river with two tired horses and a rebellious adolescent.

  


———~———

  


The drizzle felt like stone pellets and Mycroft's coat that Malle wore did little to prevent her from getting soaked. He was worried that she may be too tired to focus in the dark. After an hour of unabating rain Mycroft pulled in front of Malle’s horse and forced her to slow down.

 

“We should rest a while. Once the rains are less of a downpour we can proceed. Also, you have not had anything substantial the whole day.” Soft but firm, his voice broached no argument. He deftly dismounted his horse, led her to a small clearing by the side of the road and tied the reins to a tree.

 

Malle was already down and sat herself on the ground by the tree. It gave them some relief from the rain. They ate the bread and shared the water in silence, watching the sky clearing. The grey was visible from the early rays of sunshine.

 

Mycroft stood up, saying, “Better not dawdle. It is only an hour’s ride.” He gave a hand to Malle, who ignored him and tried to stand by herself. Losing her balance she almost toppled over.

 

Rolling his eyes at the stubbornness he had to put up with, Mycroft raised his eyebrows and huffed. Holding her firmly, Mycroft lifted her on to the saddle of his horse and climbed up behind her. He tied the reins of her horse to his saddle and set off at a steady pace.

 

Malle was exhausted and reluctantly allowed him to adjust her seating in front of him. Her head resting on his chest, arms wound around his waist, legs were over his left thigh, she never felt safer since this dilemma had risen.

  


———~———

  


The way to Musgrave Hall was not a path frequented by the general populace. They traversed the road without any mishaps. The rain had stopped and Mycroft changed horses, carrying the half-asleep Malle like a child, half-way through the trip, before crossing the river.

 

Malle was too tired to register their arrival at the Hall. Holding on to her lithe form Mycroft dismounted and swiftly carried her up the steps. The sleepy footman had just enough time to recognise the master and open the door. His offer to help was ignored by Mycroft who ran up the stairs with Malle in his arms. He entered a chamber that was glowing from the faint rays of sunshine entering through the window, making the yellow walls reflect the warmth.

 

Gently placing her over the bedspread, he reached over and rang the bell for the housekeeper. Pacing the floor impatiently for help to arrive, Mycroft could not help wonder how foolish an act it was to ride all the way in the rain. Sherlock was right - not one of his brightest plans! If anything were to happen to her … . The thought had no time to grow as he heard himself being addressed.

 

“M’Lord! You need to get into some dry clothes!” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson bustling into the room with towels and a basin of hot water.

 

“I am perfectly fine,” was Mycroft’s clipped reply which was  ignored by the housekeeper. “You need to help her before she catches her death,” he continued.

 

Making sure that Molly was in capable hands, he finally left the room to continue his task of informing relevant people of the situation.

  
  


—~—~—~—

 

####  _[Mycroft’s chambers]_

 

Mycroft’s thoughts strayed towards the still form in the guest chamber as he got out of his soaking garments. Rubbing his neck and swirling his head to clear the mist that hindered practical action, Mycroft climbed into the bath that was awaiting him.

 

Mrs. Hudson had seen to it that everything was in order. He dismissed his valet and rested for a few minutes, soaking in the warm water.

 

Sherlock had to be persuaded to join them immediately. All the papers were in Holmes Manor. Mycroft would have to personally retrieve them since he could trust nobody with such an important task.

 

Sighing he rose out of the tub, splashing water over to the floor. Rivulets of water cascaded down his body to the floor. Ignoring the towel that was placed by the window he walked over to the mirror and glanced at his wet face.

 

Moving his palm over his cheeks, he wondered why he grew a beard? Because it made him look older than people knew him to be? Or because he felt more like the person people wanted him to be. The serious ‘Holmes Senior’, always in charge, whatever be the situation. Not the young man with too much responsibility at a very young age of twenty-five.

It _did_ suit him, did it not?

His mental monologue as he got ready for the tasks awaiting him helped not an ounce.

  
  


—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—

~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—

~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~—~


	5. The Master In His Element

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and John deal with matters in Pembrokeshire while Sherlock is asked by Mycroft to keep Malle safe, away from Moriarty's spies. Malle ends up on a journey that reveals a guarded secret of the Holmes family, making friends in the process, changing her life dramatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added a few links that are self-explanatory.  
> Holyhead - a wiki link [for those interested in details/history]  
> chapel - a picture to get a better concept  
> landau - my idea of their conveyance  
> altar - a stained glass window that captivated me  
> Holyhead - wiki link  
> lady - a pic of Eurus and Molly [from tumblr - to give you an idea of what I have imagined]
> 
> P.S. - None of the pictures are mine. All are from the web. 
> 
> .....
> 
> Think I have covered everything. If not, I will edit soon.
> 
> ....
> 
> Enjoy the work!  
> It is one of my favourite chapters :)

###  _**Chapter 4 - The Master In His Element** _

  


####  _[Pembrokeshire Castle - Day 1, evening]_

 

“Mary Mary!” John rushed into the kitchen.

 

“Don’t panic. Janine is busy with some handsome boy who seems to have taken a shine for her.” Mary was busy stirring a pot on the stove.

 

“That boy is Sherlock!” John looked ready to explode.

 

“I’d have known if it was!” Mary looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

 

“NO, you wouldn’t. He’s all dressed up to ..” John was waving his hands lost for words. “And you’ve only seen him in common clothes.” He nodded his head as if re-assuring himself.

 

“What’s he up to then?” she closed the pot with a lid and adjusted the fire for the pot to simmer.

 

Walking over to the cook exchanging a knowing glance with her co-conspirator -  “I’m needed elsewhere” - she led John outside into the garden.

 

“I’ve no idea, but this does not look good. That girl looks too comfortable with him. He has no idea how these women can stick to you like a leech!” exclaimed John, as he fisted his hands and walked up and down the pathway.

 

“He knows _exactly_ what he’s doing if you ask me. Janine is simply enjoying the attention as long as it lasts. He can fend her off. Not like someone I know.” Mary gave him a knowing smile.

 

“But that’s different! We…” John sighed, closed his mouth and sat down on the stone bench by the kitchen door.

 

“Shall I go to the ballroom and try to distract Janine?” Mary knew that John would say no.

 

They were having a tough time keeping Janine away from Malle’s chambers. She was persistent in meeting her as if to give her company. And they made up a lie that she was terribly ill, some contagious fever, needed complete bed-rest, with no visitors. It wouldn’t be long before the news of Malle’s hiding was conveyed to all the staff. They were running out of ideas. One day of secrecy was acceptable. More? For how long?

 

———~———

 

A low whistle from the shrubbery caught their attention.

 

“That’s Sherlock’s cavalry.” John moved stealthily into the darkness.

 

Mary could hear whispering. A woman of Mary’s height but curly hair and sharper build walked out with John.

 

“This is Sally. She is part of Captain Lestrade’s spy network. Working for Sherlock now.” John seemed a little aloof and Mary wondered about the history between the two. She nodded in acknowledgement and moved closer. “Is there something urgent?”

 

“Yes. I need to meet him.” Sally seemed reluctant to divulge the nature of the matter.

 

“I’ll go get him.” John was already walking through the door.

 

“Would you like something to eat?” Mary waved towards the kitchen door.

 

“Yes, I’m starving, actually.” Sally looked tired even though alert.

 

“Come in.” Mary walked in leaving the door open.

 

———~———

 

“Sherlock’s keeping Janine company. Not that I couldn’t handle her. But since nothing is settled best to keep a distance.” Mary was busy slicing bread.

 

“Mhm.” Sally replied not committing anything.

 

“How’s life in the wild?” Mary was determined to draw her out.

 

Shrugging her shoulder Sally picked at the bread.

 

“There’s plenty of left over food. Banquet for Magnussen’s aides.” Mary placed a bowl of soup and a plate full of meat slicing and boiled vegetables.

 

“Haven’t seen you before in the castle,” Sally offered.

 

“Oh. Joined as Lady Malle’s maid. Long back. Been mostly here in the kitchen and with my lady.”

 

“Well I’ve been in the barracks and on the field. So.” Sally ate sparingly, picking at her meat and vegetables.

 

“And how did you meet Sherlock?”

 

“Long story” was the only reply.

 

———~———

 

“Well!? What is it? You know it is not safe to meet here!” Sherlock looked regal with the dinner jacket and waistcoat and bow-tie, hair oiled and parted neatly even if a few curly strands fell on his forehead.

 

Sally handed him a note, got up and left the kitchen.

 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he read the note   - 

 

>  “ _The cat want’s it’s canary. Now._ ”

 

He threw the note into the fire and started pacing around the kitchen. “I have to leave right away. Let me put in a word with ‘Lady’ Janine. You will not have to worry about her.”

 

Watching Sherlock flounce off John screwed up his face and rushed after Sally.

 

Sighing, Mary followed him.

 

———~———

 

Mary heard them whispering in the dark and decided to join them. After all it was her Lady’s welfare that was at stake.

 

“You need to be more specific. What are we to do here? It is not easy making people believe in the presence of someone who has flown the nest.” John looked like he wanted to shake answers out of Sally.

 

“You need to talk to His Majesty,” Sally whispered, folding her arms around her chest in protest.

 

“You’ve NO RIGHT to talk like that. Not after what you did.”

 

“I think that I’ve made up for my mistake.”

 

“Well _I_ don’t!”

 

Mary moved between them before the discussion ended in serious physical assault. “Why not the two of you calm down. There is a lot at stake and we need to work together, putting aside our differences.”

 

“Something's definitely up. Mycroft’s worried. He want’s to see Sherlock as soon as possible. That’s all I know.” Sally sulked, giving them the details from her side.

 

“How did you meet Lord Mycroft?” John was wary of the information. There were a lot of details missing. “You met them on their way to Musgrave Hall?”

 

Sally refused to answer.

 

———~———

 

“Come on then.” Sherlock breezed past them, in a peasant’s attire, a deer-stalker hat covering his curls.

 

Sally followed silently.

 

“Sherlock wait!” John rushed behind them.

 

“No time to talk, John. Time is of essence. You need to guard the fort. Take care of the King. Moriarty is on the move. I will get back to you once I have finished this business with my brother.” His voice faded as he disappeared into the darkness.

 

“We’d better get back before someone notices. And I need to pretend to take food for Malle.” Mary pulled John by the sleeve encouraging him to not pursue Sherlock.

 

———~———

 

“I have to say it was pretty foolish of you ambushing his Lordship. Well, not that he did not deserve it.” Sherlock pulled on his gloves and mounted one of the horses that Sally had tied to the tree at the edge of the forest. Sally followed suit.

 

“It was Anderson’s idea.” Trying to sound apologetic did not feel right with Sally.

 

“You should know better than to trust Anderson’s judgement. Thought you would have learnt that by now.” Sherlock was relentless.

 

Sally tried changing the subject “Should I accompany you?”

 

“No, you are needed here. Anderson cannot be trusted to act efficiently.”

 

“The road to Musgrave Hall was clear. Shall I return to Snowdonia after ...?” Sally had slowed down, intending to change her route.

 

“Yes. Lady Irene has returned. Need a pair of ears inside the castle. Beware of her. Get as much information as you can. She may have found out about Malle. Especially with your fiasco! I did warn Mycroft that it was not safe to travel through enemy territory with the Prize. Almost using her like bait.” Sherlock sounded frustrated.

 

Rather than bear the brunt Sally ignored the monologue and swiftly made her way in the direction of their hideout near the Pembrokeshire forest. She knew the Holmes brothers were thick-headed but this was going too far. Madness to go to and fro all the way to Anglesey and then back. Right through Snowdonia!

 

Even if they hadn’t ambushed Lord Mycroft, surely King Moriarty’s men would have found them out. Definitely the attire would not fool them. Although considering the fact that few people outside Pembrokeshire castle had seen Lady Malle in the flesh, and Lord Mycroft moved only in circles where the commoners never got to set foot in … Lords and Kings and Princesses! She would rather be back in the forest with the thieves and scoundrels.

  


———~———

 

####  _[Musgrave Hall - Day 2, morning]_

 

Mycroft paused outside the door to the guest chambers. Knocking once he waited a few seconds before noiselessly opening the door just a fraction to glance at the sleeping figure on the bed. He gave in to the temptation of a wistful smile.

 

Malle was covered in a quilt and only the top of her head was visible. ‘Just a child’, he reminded himself. Softly closing the door he headed in the direction of his study next to the library. Taking the steps two at a time he hurried to prepare for his departure to Holmes Manor.

 

Mrs. Hudson had a tray of breakfast set-out for him. Glancing at it contemplatively, Mycroft made time for some bread and tea, resolving to overcome his aversion to eat. He knew that there would be no time for food once he was back home. Magnussen’s men would be waiting for him.

 

Taking out his pocket-watch Mycroft glanced at the time. Sherlock should be here by noon if he started the moment Sally had delivered the message. There were barns in the outskirts of Snowdonia where he could change horses and ride on.

 

Trying to take his mind off the worry of Sherlock’s delay, Mycroft walked out into the garden through the French windows, for some fresh air - he _reasoned_ with his questioning self.

  


———~———

 

####  _[Four years ago, Holmes Manor]_

 

Sherlock was unaware of his name, yet he seemed to have developed a bond deeper than a blood-relation, from the encounter in the forest. Awake within a couple of hours, his first words were of those enquiring after the stranger who had rescued him.

 John appeared to be at ease with him, answering his innumerable questions, facts that were quite obvious to Mycroft. Unable to listen to the eagerness in Sherlock’s voice without being affected, Mycroft made his excuses and left them to their discussions.  

 Always wise to not engage in emotions that would only be detrimental to one’s task.

 Entering the library, he retrieved the document sent by the King of Pembrokeshire through John, unfolded it and perused the contents.

 The objective was not undesirable. Yet, it felt unwise to accept. If only he had more time to think through the scenarios.

 All possible events were quite evident. There was no other course of action to be taken. Since he was Sherlock’s legal guardian at the present time, the right to take decisions on his behalf rested in him.

 Writing a short message as reply, Mycroft sealed it with his signature ring and took it upstairs for John’s deliverance.  

  


———~———

 

Four years hence, Mycroft was unable to  comprehend the full extent of that decision. He had to tell Sherlock. And yet, it was unwise. For Sherlock would never willingly agree to the arrangement. There had to be a way to bring this into fruition.

 Sherlock being of age now, had the right to make his own decisions. It was a wonder why King Edward never went ahead with their agreement all these years. Perhaps he still held hope to find a suitable Prince for his daughter.

 And now he was being forced to make a decision that would raise many questions not only in his kingdom, but over the whole of Wales.

 Mycroft was powerless even with all of the bank in his hands. He had tried garnering the help of Lady Smallwood. But she had her own demons from her past with Lord Magnussen. That man was a parasite, draining all nobles of their resources.

 He would have to put his faith in Sherlock. Sherlock! That would be something new.

 Sighing, feeling defeated by his pondering, Mycroft let himself down on the stone-bench next to a rose bush.

 

Leaning back as he braced himself with his hands on the stone seat, he closed his eyes allowing the sunlight to fall on his face. He could feel the calm pervade his mind.  Breathing in deeply he glanced at the window that housed his new guest. A flash of curtain told him that his charge was awake.

 

Reluctantly he got up and strode towards the library window. There was work to do.

 

———~———

 

Mycroft walked towards the kitchen. As he entered, he heard Mrs. Hudson say, “Ah, there you are. I was setting a tray for our guest. While she eats maybe you should have your lunch too, don’t you think?” as she bustled around instructing the maids with the dishes.

 

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I would prefer to eat in my study. Sherlock will be here any moment now. And I will be leaving soon for Holmes Manor. Please take care of our guest. I trust you to be vigilant,” instructing her, Mycroft turned to leave the kitchen.

 

“But you’ll be _back_ tonight, won’t you m'Lord?” Mrs. Hudson sensed the uncertainty that was masked behind the indifference in Mycroft’s tone.

 

“Yes, I _will_ , Mrs. Hudson,” he replied, voice too soft to be heard, yet the implication evident to go unheeded.  He knew he would try even if it meant the death of him.

 

———~———

  


Sherlock arrived close to twilight. Walking directly into the study, he sarcastically jibed at his brother, “You better have a good reason for making me ride all over England to see you sitting cosily at your desk relishing in the ‘comforts’ of ill-gotten money.”

 

“ _Must_ you always be so dramatic?” Mycroft lowered his monocle and rubbed his tired eyes. “Do sit down. I’ll have Mrs. Hudson bring something for you to eat.”

 

“So there is no emergency?” continuing the attack, Sherlock slid onto the couch by the window that found his legs over the armrest.

 

“There _is_. And, I have to leave immediately. My journey was delayed waiting for you to get back,” Mycroft countered, sighing as he stood up to reach for the bell-pull.

 

“And why am I to be here while you are away. If it is to give company to the Princess you know better than to entrust me with a child.” Sherlock had jumped up out of the couch and was rifling through the papers on Mycroft’s desk.

 

“Sherlock, please leave those alone. You do know that Holmes Manor is being watched. The moment I leave Musgrave Hall, there will be spies both here and behind me. Malle is not safe anywhere. At least not until …”

 

“Until what?” interrupted Sherlock, narrowed eyes watching his brother carefully, unable to catch the detail that he was not revealing.

 

“Never mind that. You need to be on the lookout. I trust Mrs. Hudson. But she is an old lady and there are limitations. Please take this task seriously and prove to be the adult that you so vociferously proclaim to be.” The sardonic tone said it all.

Mycroft left the library towards his chambers.

 

Sherlock followed him asking in a matter-of-fact tone, “And how do you propose that I keep her from wandering off?”

 

“You will think of something. I have all the faith in you,” was the only reply he got from Mycroft.

 

There was a diverting quality to his tone that made Sherlock pause and scrutinise his brother’s back as he ascended the stairs to his chambers, with the lack of his usual agility, betraying the exhaustion.

 

———~———

 

####  _[The guest chambers in Musgrave Hall - Day 2, evening]_

 

Malle was not sure what had woken her up. She did not even remember the dream that lingered at the fringes of reality. Looking around the room that she was in, the events of the night flooded her mind.

 

She vaguely remembered being fed by a maid, and the old lady who went by the name of Mrs. Hudson hovering about helping her with the clothes, guiding her onto the chamber pot….

Mycroft had not enquired after her. Or had he. Maybe she was asleep when he came to check on her. Would he? Was it something a gentleman would do? Maybe not.

 

She felt the urge to move. Slowly rising from the bed she walked over to the window, parted the curtain and the view caught her breath.

 

On a garden bench, next to a rose bush sat Mycroft, his face glowing in the morning sun, beard and hair brighter than the dark shade that had fooled her in the night. Noticing the sudden movement on the bench she quickly stepped back, hiding behind the curtain.

 

It was a familiar feeling. Yet she could not place it. The sight of him in a calm atmosphere. As if she had re-lived this moment from a lifetime back.

 

Taking a deep breath to compose her feelings, Malle leaned against the chair that was placed near the window. She sank into it and curled up, resting her head on the wing of the chair, glancing around, not registering the opulence of the decor.

 

She could hear water splashing under hooves. Breathing in the memory, she felt herself sliding, and being held tightly against a firm body. Her sliding legs were moved around, flanking thighs that were firmly guiding the horse beneath them to slow it’s pace. A gentle voice murmuring for her to hold on tight; constantly reassuring as they waded deeper into the water. She could feel the current dragging them. She held on tighter, hearing his heart beat steadily, his breath on her hair a comfort, the faint musky smell of sweat, eucalyptus and clove lulling her in her worn out state.

  


———~———

  


Sherlock watched Mycroft’s carriage disappear round the bend of the driveway. He was not prone to giving in to instincts. But, Mycroft’s trip did not sit well with him. Marching upstairs to his chambers, he decided on a long bath before dinner.

 

The pounding on his door woke him from the stuporous sleep that he seemed to have fallen into in the tub.

 Hurriedly putting on the nightgown he walked over to unlock the door.

 The maid was in a panic talking incoherently.

 

“Where’s Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock’s scream stopped the nonsense that was being babbled.

 

“She’s getting the Lady ready. Asked me to call you. Something about the men who followed you.” The maid bowed and fled downstairs.

 

Sherlock was ready and at the door to the guest chambers before Mrs. Hudson had Malle ready. “What now?” Sherlock stood leaning against the frame outside the door not entering.

 

Malle was dressed in a plain grey gown and her hair was tied into a knot, covered by a thin veil. Mrs. Hudson was helping her get into a coat that looked like it belonged to Mycroft, reaching her ankles and sleeves engulfing her arms.

 

“Here’s the note. Wiggins has been instructed to help you. I’ll get you some food.” As she walked out the door, Sherlock opened the note

 

> _“Let the East Wind lead you.”_

 

“Hmm. Common then. There’s no time to lose.” Sherlock was down the stairs before Malle could even register the words.

 

———~———

  


Wiggins was in the kitchen helping Mrs. Hudson with a basket, filling it with fruits, bread and a flask of water.

 

“There’s no time to lug all this around. Stuff some bread and the flask in your pockets Wiggins. I specifically asked you to guard our Lordship. You could have sent one of the cavalry. No matter. Fill me in on the way.” He picked a loaf of bread and a flask of water as he walked out the kitchen.

 

“Here, you’ll need to keep warm.” Mrs. Hudson covered Malle’s neck with a woollen scarf.

 

As Malle hurried to keep up she paused, noticing the skylight in the hall that she was in.

 

“Do keep up. My brother may seem very considerate but he will definitely have my head if you were to be taken away.” Sherlock’s voice reverberating down the corridor brought her out of her reverie. “[Holyhead](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holyhead), Wiggins!”

  


———~———

 

A [landau](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756614633/) was waiting for them outside the northern entrance. Wiggins jumped up and took hold of the reins. Sherlock followed, sitting behind, and patted the seat next to him. Malle glared at him and pulled herself up. She had to catch the bar behind the rider’s seat to keep herself from falling of, for Wiggins had set the horse off at full trot even before she had settled into the seat.

 

The covers were down, both front and back, the wind blowing in her face, making conversation impossible. She wondered how efficient it was to be seen in the open like this when there were men sent my Moriarty all over the place.

 

Looking at herself and then at Sherlock, it struck her that they would blend in easily, as peasants. So that was the plan. Hide in some farm-house?

 

———~———

 

Within the hour they were crossing a narrow man-made bridge to a small island that Malle could not make out clearly in the darkness. She could hear the sea, waves pounding, and felt the strong wind sway their conveyance. Remembering what she had read about a port in Anglesey, that was a conduit for seafarers, she started to form a picture of where she was headed.

 

After a short ride along open country they neared a small [chapel](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756876329/), the light inside gleaming like a beacon in the dark.

 

They alighted from the landau at the side-entrance on the west side.

 

Sherlock, briefly discussing with Wiggins in whispered voices, disappeared into the chapel while Malle struggled to get down gracefully, feeling for the step with her foot in the dark. Wiggins set off the moment she set foot on the ground.

 

Standing for a moment to get her balance back, Malle shivered in the strong wind. Pulling the coat tight around herself, breathing in the comforting smell and burying her hands into the long sleeve, she made her way into the chapel.

 

The silence inside was effective. It helped Malle get her bearings.

 

Once she allowed the serenity of the chapel to ease her mind, she was able to pay attention to details. The candles burning near the altar, the empty pews, and in the corner next to the altar two figures in the shadow. One she would recognise anywhere, with the curly hair and tall stance, flailing limbs. The other was a shorter man, stout, with glasses that he seemed to be removing from his face constantly as if to wipe sweat; seemed more like a mannerism.

 

Malle quietly advanced. Unsure of the nature of their discussion, and whether her presence was welcomed, she hovered near the [altar](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756582325/), as if in reverence.

  


———~———

 

####  _[Holyhead Chapel - Day 2, twilight]_

 

“My Lady! Please. Allow me to welcome you to this humble abode of our Lord.” The parson stepped forward palm outstretched beckoning her closer.

 

Malle ventured forward after a quick glance at Sherlock who seemed to be staring at the parson as if he was seeing him for the first time.

 

“I am Michael Stamford, the parson of this chapel.” He extended his hand to take Malle’s.

 

Shyly Malle gave her right hand. He bent down and kissed the knuckles.

 

“Oh, enough of this nonsense. There are important matters to be discussed.” Sherlock was already walking away towards the curtain behind the altar.

 

“This way, my Lady.” Michael led her towards the curtain. “The chapel was built under the instruction of senior Holmes..”

 

“He means Uncle Rudy” Sherlock’s voice interrupted their conversation. He seemed to be higher up, like he was climbing stairs.

 

“Yes, Lord Mycroft’s uncle.” Michael showed her a stone wall that had been opened. When closed it sealed so tightly that there was no gap. “Only a person who knows where the lever to the door is hidden can open it. It is four bricks above the ground and six bricks from the corner.” He pushed a brick and the wall swung inward revealing a staircase.

 

“Please. Follow me.” The parson ascended the stairs making sure that Malle was keeping up. “It runs all the way to the top - parallel to the stairs that reach the bell. We are inside the bell-tower! Very ingenious architecture.”

 

Malle looked amazed. She glanced up at the flight of stairs.

 

“It is a fair climb. But not that high,” continued the parson as he waited for Malle to catch up.

 

They could hear murmuring of voices. One was definitely Sherlock’s. As they climbed higher Malle noticed that the space below the tower where the church-bell hung was the roof of a room. A door at the end of the stairs led to it. Michael waited for Malle to enter first. The room was oval, with no windows, but a small ventilator opposite the door at eye-level.

 

In the light of the blackened lamp that illuminated the small table she noticed a young lady standing next to Sherlock. They were in deep conversation that stopped abruptly the moment Malle entered the room.  

  


———~———

 

####  _[Eurus’ Quarters in the Bell Tower of[ Holyhead ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holyhead) Chapel] _

 

“Wonderful to finally meet you! You look worn out. Michael please put the kettle on. Sherlock kindly clear the table. Come and sit down, Malle.” The [lady](http://louisebrealey.tk/post/57425332772/misshoopers-in-flagrante-michelle-dockery) looked at her with piercing eyes, a quality that was common to the Holmes brothers.

 

Malle gave a tentative smile and took the chair that was offered to her.

 

“I am Eurus Holmes,” she introduced herself. “Since my brother does not have the decency to introduce us.” Extending her hand,  Eurus took Malle’s in hers and shook it enthusiastically.

 

Malle looked questioningly at Sherlock who was lingering at the end of the table, busying himself with the papers strewn over it. Noticing the musical notes, Malle blurted out “Oh, do you play too?!”

 

Eurus smiled indulgently, sounding humble, “Helps pass the time.” She kept hold of the hand and maintained eye contact, as if studying Malle’s varying emotions.

 

“Runs in the family, you know. Mycroft is an exception,” she added.

 

Tilting her head she slowly dropped the hand in her grip and walked to the other chair that was placed next to a cot covered in books and papers, the bow of a violin resting on the pillow. Lifting the chair she placed it next to Malle’s and sat beside her.

 

Michael poured the tea from the kettle boiling on a stove that was built over a small kiln into four cups and placed them on the table.

 

“I thought women were tidy! You are worse than me. Where am I to sit!?” Sherlock, busy making room on the cot, missed the curious glance of Malle and the studious look of Eurus.

 

“I need to go downstairs,” the parson excused himself, unaware of the mental ruminations of the other three.

 

———~———

 

“Hope you were not terribly inconvenienced by the sudden eviction from your castle. My brothers may act the gentlemen, but they have appalling behaviour when it comes to a woman’s sensibilities,” Eurus Holmes easily conversed.

 

She had the same strong features of the Holmes family. As well as the elegant poise and sarcastic humour of the elder Holmes,  while the ease of conversation and need to be useful of the younger brother.

 

“Are you two going to gossip like old ladies? There is too much at stake. Mycroft may be …” Sherlock’s sudden silence prompted Malle to turn her attention to Eurus, who was blandly watching Sherlock, with minimal movement of her head from side to side.

 

Sherlock froze, staring at his sister. “How tall are you? Stand up. You too Malle.”

Pulling the two of them together by their arms, he tilted his head both ways, then clapped his hands “Yes!”

 

“No, Sherlock.” Eurus sounded determined. Then sighed, and seemed to accept something reluctantly.

 

“Get on with it, then. I need to make arrangements for our transport.” And he was out the door and down the stairs clapping his hands in glee.

 

———~———

 

“We need to create a diversion,” Eurus patiently stated.

“I hope you do understand the gravity of what I am about to ask of you. I will accompany Sherlock on your behalf, as if you were fleeing from Magnussen’s men,” she continued as she got up from the chair.

“We will be followed of course. Do not worry about us. You need to stay here as me. I will help you change your hair colour. It is too bright.” Eurus started undressing as she continued, “Since outside your staff and subjects others have not met you, we hope to hoodwink these hooligans.”  

 

Malle herself hesitated and then struggled with the buttons on the back. Eurus reached behind her and undid them. In no time Malle was dressed up and with her hair darkened with she knew not what, coiffed neatly, she felt more confident than she did since was woken up by Mary in the middle of the night two days ago.

 

Eurus, still in her petticoat surveyed her handiwork, clapped her hands in delight and got into the clothes that Mrs. Hudson had lent Malle. She picked up a coat that looked worn out and a scarf that had seen better days.

 

“No time to lose. Better be off. Come downstairs. Michael will help you with the mechanism of the door.” Eurus was already down the stairs before Malle heard the whole sentence.

  


———~———

 

A curricle with a mare attached to it was standing by the door through which they had arrived. Sherlock was already seated, reigns in hand. Eurus nimbly alighted, waved to Malle and they were off into the dark, the only sign, a lamp hanging from the side of the seat swaying to and fro, sending shards of light in all directions.

 

“Your Highness, you need to come away from the open. It is not safe, health-wise and also…” The parson hesitated to finish the sentence. He waited for Malle’s response.

 

Silently Malle shifted her weight from one leg to the other, then turned around and walked into the chapel.

 

Michael cautiously entered the chapel and watched the Princess kneel before the altar in prayer.

 

As Molly rose she felt the presence of the man of the cloth beside her. Turning to him she could not help ask, “Do you think they will be safe? Sherlock mentioned that Lord Mycroft …” She could not complete the sentence. Not only because she knew not the details, also because she knew it was futile to fret when she was incapable of helping.

 

“The Holmes siblings are very resilient. Not only can they withstand any onslaught, they are capable of deterring any danger that may come your way.” Hesitating for a second he added “Master Sherlock has been a good influence on Lady Holmes. It was not always like this.”

 

Malle, who was gazing out the door into the darkness, turned to Michael. Feeling that he needed to be coerced into confiding some information that would add to the puzzle that was the Holmes family, she spoke softly, “If it will ease my mind please free to shed some light on their complex natures. I promise to keep it in confidence.”

  


———~———

  


“Why don’t we go to my rectory. You have not eaten anything. I have prepared some broth and boiled vegetables. The bread is a few days old, but edible,” the parson suggested as he started moving towards the door on the opposite side and walked down the few steps to a small hut next to the chapel.

 

Malle followed silently, her thoughts flitting between the Holmes siblings, and their selflessness.

 

She entered the hut to the smell of meat stewed in its juices and steaming vegetables. The entrance led to a hall that was being used as a study. Two doors on either side, one led to a small kitchen with a stove top and basin, with a table and two chairs. Pots hung on the walls, ladles on hooks around the stove.

 

“I’m rather a poor cook. My father who was the parson appointed by the Elder Holmes, originally from Cardigan, learnt to cook when my mother died. When we moved here, we barely ate any prepared food. He was a diligent learner though. I helped him and have learnt a few tricks,” Michael explained as he ladled the broth into two bowls and plated the vegetables and bread.

 

There was a door next to the table, that was placed under a window overlooking the garden. The candle on the table glowed brightly lighting the room in a comfortable warmth.

 

As they sat down to eat, Michael prayed for the well-being of the Holmes family and the people of Wales.

 

One sip told Malle that the broth tasted good contrary to the parson’s misgivings. “You underestimate your talent sir,” Malle was vociferous in her comment on the parson’s cooking skills; who seemed genuinely delighted with the compliment.

 

The past two days’ unsettling happenings had prevented her from eating anything substantial and she was famished. Still, the taste could do nothing to extinguish the fear that kept returning every moment her thoughts wandered to the Holmes Manor.

 

———~——————~——————~——————~———

———~———

———~——————~———


	6. Recriminations of the Heart and Meanderings of the Pensive Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mycroft struggles with hurdles created not only by Magnussen, but also his siblings as well the Princess herself, Sherlock finds a new ally.  
> Introduction of Lord Charles/Siarl Baskerville.
> 
> Notes about the links at the beginning and a history of the Baskerville Hall at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links - quite a few. I love picture storytelling. Makes the story feel vivid.
> 
> Skip this if it is not to your liking.
> 
> 1\. library - a picture of a cozy library  
> 2\. EURUS - Mark Gatiss' drawing fromTwitter [Memento Mori - this story was sparked from Mark's drawing]  
> 3\. picture - Mark as Robert Cecil in Gunpowder [ felt the image was apt for Mycroft's grandfather]  
> 4\. picturesque - a picture of Holyhead Chapel in sunrise  
> 5\. chestnut tree - a little Celtic folklore [for those interested]  
> 6\. sight - a picture of Mark on the sets of Gunpowder [ :) just an indulgence!]  
> 7\. smile - a gif of Mark from photoshoot for Three Days In The Country  
> 8\. silhouette - a picture of Louise Brailey  
> 9\. Baskerville Hall - wiki link to the original place  
> 10\. Siarl - Charles/behind the name [Welsh heritage]  
> 11\. Harri - Henry/behind the name [Welsh heritage]  
> 12\. Baskervilles - my varnishing of facts to suit the story [link to the history of Lleweni Hall]  
> 13\. Baskerville Hall - a wiki picture of Lleweni Hall  
> 14\. cedar tree - just a picture to give a concept of my imagination  
> 15\. Horseshoe Pass - an outline route map [ to show that it is possible!]
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------
> 
> That is quite a lot of pictures. Would have inserted the images, but, am not sure how well that will be received. If anyone suggests, I shall post them with the chapter!

###  _**Chapter - 5  Recriminations of the Heart and Meanderings of the Pensive Mind** _

 

####  _ [Holmes Manor - Day 2, close to midnight] _

Verbal dialogues were unheard of in the Holmes household. The atmosphere always held a heavy silence that was only interrupted by the ringing of a bell - to summon a servant, or from visitors, who kept their interactions to a minimum. Communication was mostly non-verbal, an almost telepathic sharing of opinions and disagreements. 

Today was an exception. Lord Magnussen had not only forcibly overstayed his  _ unofficial _ business visit, but had caused the elder Holmes to  _ almost _ lose his composure; this was unacceptable. 

Never in his twenty-five years of existence had someone made Mycroft Holmes want to cause physical harm to another soul. This was the first. 

“Lord Magnussen, I fail to understand your adamance. As I have repeatedly expressed, the bank has specified the rules in the agreement. It is not amendable. Please consider the alternative,” countered Mycroft, unable to hide the irritation from his voice, realising he had to train harder to counter his enemies with an act of indolent detachment. 

Walking towards a row of bookshelves near the window onlooking the garden, he pretended to search for a volume, mentally calculating the outcome of his note entrusted to Wiggins the moment he had arrived. 

Sherlock would be furious. It was inevitable. At this juncture he trusted nobody with such pertinent information. All he could hope for was that his siblings would decipher his intentions and act in unison, not discord. The Princess will be  _ safe _ in Holyhead.

“… so it is important that we find a way to amend the rule. Or sub-rule, as you so ardently quote.” As the Lord continued his monologue, Mycroft picked out a volume that looked heavy enough to make-believe; tilting his head as if in contemplation, perusing the pages with one hand while apparently reading with furrowed concentration, he shut out the droning voice of the parasitic vermin.

He had memorised all the rules, sub-rules and also the sub-texts to these when he was merely nine years old. There was no book or document that he needed to refer to for his argument. Magnussen was well aware of his prowess. Yet he seemed to allow the charade. This only meant that he was buying time. Which was dangerous. The spies would have followed Wiggins. He  _ had _ to get to Musgrave Hall immediately. 

“I will talk to the board tomorrow and send word to you by noon. Right now I have some personal matters to attend to. If you will excuse me. Please, allow me to escort you to your carriage,” he insisted. 

Mycroft strode towards the library door arms swinging, clearly agitated; left ajar when he had reluctantly invited the LORD in for a brief discussion, the door handle bore the brunt of his smouldering emotions. His left hand fingered the waist-coat pocket that held his pocket-watch.

“You can accompany me to Snowdonia.” Magnussen seemed unruffled, purposefully not taking the hint. “Makes the task less arduous.” He sat facing the painting of Mycroft’s great-grandfather hanging behind the desk; one hand fiddling with his moustache, while the other twirling his walking stick.

Sighing, Mycroft turned towards the man who was definitely scheming something far more sinister than Sherlock’s ‘cavalry’ had informed them of. He will need other means to get behind the truth. 

Hand still on the door knob Mycroft put on his best diplomatic stance “Of course I would. But, as I mentioned earlier, there is work here that I have left unfinished; to attend to you my Lord. As soon as that is completed, I will be on my way. I give you my word. It is late. I would not want to inconvenience you any longer. Please.” He walked out into the corridor and reduced his pace. 

The silent presence of the unwanted guest assured him of his present course; quickening his footsteps, Mycroft made to the front door in no time. 

Completely ignoring the bowing Mycroft, Lord Magnussen entered his carriage and disappeared into the twilight. 

 

———~———

 

####  _ [Musgrave Hall - Day 2, a little after midnight] _

The distance from Holmes Manor to Musgrave Hall was covered in less than an hour on horseback. Mycroft alighted with ease, rushed inside, and took the stairs two at a time. Lying flat on the floor beside his bed he slid under, dextrously pressed a lever at the head of the bed-frame, retrieved a scroll of paper, and flew downstairs, dusting his clothes on the way.

He was met at the bottom by a flustered Mrs. Hudson. “My Lord. Sherlock has taken your sister with him. Says they’ll find a way. Think he’s left Lady Hooper in the chapel. Didn’t say. I tried hard to make him stay.” 

While Mycroft processed this news, “Sir, I delivered the note as you had requested and used the landau to transport them to the Chapel. Then returned immediately. To the best of my knowledge I was not followed,” countered  Wiggins looking at Lord Mycroft apologetically, and yet seemingly confident of his brother’s decision. 

“But, Eurus wore men’s clothing! She wore a cap covering her hair, and put on a pair of old boots too!” Mrs. Hudson seemed too agitated to speak coherently. 

 

Supporting himself with his left hand that held the scroll on the bannister, Mycroft covered his eyes with the right, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. All his calculations were shattered by them. How could he have blindly entrusted his siblings with such a monumental task. Sherlock left to himself was a loose cannon. His effervescent unpredictable sister accompanying the belligerent boy can only lead to disaster!

 

In a moment’s decision, “You need to get to the Castle of Pembroke, _post-haste._ Find out if they have arrived safely. Also, make sure that Moriarty’s men _do_ _follow_ you. Do not fail me!” 

 

Mycroft made sure of Wiggin’s departure and then made his way to the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson following him. 

Mycroft spoke sounding weary, “I would like some soup please. Nothing else.” 

Sliding into the chair by the fire, Mycroft rested his head against the brick lining. His thoughts were numerous, foremost of all, how would Malle be coping with the abandonment? His entrusting Sherlock with her care was ambitious. It had backfired. And now he was left to pick up the pieces. 

As his agitation settled, a deep breath that he took hinted of a familiar fragrance - rosemary. Opening his eyes, Mycroft spied his coat hanging on the hook by the fireplace - the one he had lent to Malle in the carriage. He reached out to take it, then withdrew his hand. Puzzled by the involuntary reaction to an unfamiliar response of the brain, he sat back and tried hard to give his mind rest. 

 

———~———

 

####  _ [The Chapel in Holyhead - Day 2, a little after midnight] _

 

Malle could not sleep. She was not disturbed by the present environment. As a child, Malle loved the [library](https://pixabay.com/en/photos/vintage%20books/){1}  next to her father’s study. She would spend hours turning pages of books that she could barely lift with both hands; falling asleep on the floor next to the fire-place. Maybe she wanted,  _ waited _ , for her father to come looking for her. Or maybe she simply found comfort in the presence of books that held stories her nanny read to her when she was too energetic to sleep.

Unable to simply lie still waiting for sleep to take over, she got out of the not so uncomfortable cot that had only a thin mattress and threadbare quilt as bedding. Walking over to the collection of books on the table, she sat down in one of the chairs and made herself comfortable with The History of Anglesey. 

The parson’s version of  Eurus’ incarceration may have been a bit dramatic, and her mind would not rest until she could find evidence to the contrary. But the books only stated hard facts that she was quite aware of. 

A drawing slipped out as she tried to balance a large volume of History of Wales. Stooping to pick it up, she noticed that it was a charcoal sketch of a human skull. There was a faint signature at the bottom that spelt _[EURUS](https://twitter.com/Markgatiss/status/1025671115086147584){2}_   in a childish scrawl. 

Flipping through the pages Malle espied a [picture](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845757394737/){3} of Lord Mycroft Holmes. Not at all the elder  brother who had arduously ‘carried’ her to safety. This was a much older member of the family. 

Reading the description, she realised that it was the Holmes siblings’ great-grandfather. He had initiated the effort in starting a bank in Anglesey, as Holyhead Island was a safe-haven for travellers, and Anglesey provided ease of access to the mainland of the Kingdom of Britain. 

 

———~———

 

####  _ [Holyhead Chapel - Day 3, early morn] _

The trip to Holyhead on horseback exhausted Mycroft. Long limbs and agile frame helping him to gracefully slide to the ground from the saddle, he led the horse towards the cottage beside the chapel. A small shed next to it housed a few hens, a goat and a mare. The sun was barely over the horizon, the rays giving the hay a fiery quality. Appraising the [picturesque](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756579598/){4} view indulgently for not more than a few seconds, he noted both the missing mare and the curricle that should have been next to it. Tying his horse to the pole next to the pile of hay, Mycroft made his way to the kitchen door. 

“My Lord! I was going to collect some milk for Her Highness. Please, make yourself comfortable. I will be right back.” The parson was exiting the door, holding a small pot in one hand. 

Acknowledging the request with a tilt of his head, Mycroft entered the cottage silently, hung his coat on the peg behind the door and made his way to the basin to wash his face. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he paused briefly, letting the cool cloth infiltrate his senses, enlivening weary eyes. Wrinkled brows told a different story - re-living another memory; another kerchief, the previous day, a teary adolescent. 

Splashing water on the back of his neck, shaking his head, and patting the hair dry, he walked out to the small garden next to the graveyard. The[ chestnut tree](https://www.druidry.org/library/trees/nature-and-celtic-tree-calendar){5}  was bathed in sunlight. Smoothing his hair more from inner unrest as if to soothe one’s soul, hands on hips, he stood there breathing in the morning air.

Mycroft was an exception in the Holmes household. While there was a musical lineage in the family, he loved to draw. From a very young age he preferred to find a tree to sit under, with a sketch-book, engrossed in  _ his _ vision of Nature. 

The early burden of responsibility curtailed his artistic side, making him bury his passion, focussing on what was needed  _ of _ him, not  _ for _ himself.  

How he wished to sit there on the stone bench and paint the rising sun as it gleamed through the branches, nurturing life, while ignorant men scuttled around trying to make life more painful than need be.  

 

———~———

 

####  _ [Eurus’ Quarters in The Bell Tower - Day 3, early morn] _

Malle woke up with cramped arms and a stiff neck. Sleeping with her arms as a pillow, sitting in a chair, the book open beneath her arms was not at all comfortable. Stretching her hands to shake out the numbness, she slowly rose and tried to peek out the ventilator. Not only was she short, the view was limited too. 

A morning person, Malle loved to bask in the first rays of sunshine. Without a second thought she rushed down the staircase, fumbling with the lever that Mike [the parson had insisted that she not call him by his full name for it made him feel old] had showed her how to use the previous night. Finally opening the door, she rushed out. For a moment she wondered if it was safe to venture out. 

Mike had insisted that she use the lever only in case of an emergency, or when she was sure that the coast was clear. He was meant to be protecting her and did not want to be the cause of any harm that befell her. 

Turning back to go upstairs to the bell-tower, she almost entered the doorway when, the soft neighing of a horse piqued her curiosity. The mare that was the parson’s was taken away by Sherlock. That could only mean someone had arrived. This early in the morning, could it be the spies Sherlock was talking about. But then, there would be more than one. She had heard only one horse, she reasoned with herself. 

Stealthily stepping towards the window across the aisle overlooking the garden, she took a look outside. Stunned by the [sight](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756667395/){6} of the man bathed in the morning glow, with no overcoat or cravat, Malle was not aware that she was staring. 

 

———~———

 

####  _ [Outside the Chapel in Holyhead] _

Memories of childhood filled with leisure and Nature and sketches, made Mycroft smile involuntarily. Later on, when alone, he would try to reason with his mind for glancing over at the chapel window. 

The ghost of a [smile](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756626443/){7} still on his face, Mycroft for a moment thought he had seen something, or someone otherworldly in the chapel’s hall. 

Squinting to get a clearer view of the darkened interior of the chapel, he recognised the [silhouette](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756609405/){8} gracing the open window. The smile wiped away by the tangible fear that comes from responsibility, Mycroft marched into the chapel and headed towards the sleep ruffled figure bathed in soft rays of the dawning sun.     
  


Malle had yet to absorb the gravity of her actions. She stood by the window watching Mycroft walk fast towards the chapel. Maybe, she hoped, he was happy to see her and was rushing in to greet her. 

Standing there by the window, she waited, knowing that he was coming towards her. The litany of the danger and precautions to be taken was not what she had expected his first reaction on seeing her to be. 

“… behaving like a child?!  _ You _ should know better …” As the tirade progressed Malle’s eyes filled with tears. All that she was aware of was that her legs would no longer support her weight. Grabbing on to the window sill, she missed the ledge, her hands sliding and felt herself fall.  

 

———~———

 

####  _ [Eurus’ Quarters in The Bell Tower - Day 3, noon] _

The sun’s rays peeping through the ventilator made her aware of the room that she was in - the bell-tower. Holding her eyes closed tight, she tried to forget the incident; making her feel like the overwrought women in novels who swooned at the whiff of peril.

Breathing in, wondering how light could reach in so directly she looked up. It was then that she noticed there were three such openings, one opposite the door, the other two across from the bed, and at the head of the bed. Judging by the slanting rays, the openings were calculated to allow the light to enter at sunrise and sunset, dispensing darkness with it. 

Sighing she almost turned to her side, when she heard the rustle of papers. That is when she noticed two things - she was hungry, but also, that faint smell of something more than eucalyptus and clove. Looking towards the table, with eyes wide, she waited for Mycroft to say something. 

“I apologise for my outburst earlier, your Highness.” Mycroft kept turning a sheet of paper over and over in his right hand, the other rubbing his forehead. As she paid attention to it, Malle recognised the drawing of Eurus. 

“How old was she when that was drawn?” asked Malle, unable to  control her curiosity. 

“Hmm? Oh, this was sketched a year after … her duress.” His voice ended in a whisper. 

Malle could feel the deep suppressed remorse in his whisper. “She seems to be a very strong person. Does she get that from your great-grandfather?” 

Mycroft looked up to see Malle standing beside him, her right hand touching the drawing, a strange connection soothing his turmoil. “Hm. I should let Michael know that you are awake. He is preparing breakfast,” with a very matter-of-fact reply, Mycroft walked away before Malle could ask anymore questions. 

  
  
  


———~———

  
  
  


Malle waited, not sure for what, neither for how long. Hearing the door open, she looked up to see the parson enter with a tray of food. Somehow, she was not hungry anymore. 

“My Lady. I forgot to show you the washroom. It is this way. Master Sherlock’s ‘cavalry’ helped build it, as an extension.” Michael walked out the door and turned to the left. 

In the corner, where the tower curved was a concealed door. He opened it to reveal a small room that had a bathtub fitted near a small skylight. Next to it stood what looked like a small brick wall, a fireplace built into it. The wall was part of the room Malle had slept in; thus keeping it warm at night. 

There was a pot of water boiling over it. Michael had laid out a pot of water and jug, with a few clothes on a small table. 

“Hope you can manage by yourself, my Lady.” He bowed and went out, steps echoing eerily. 

Too tired, yet unable to resist the need to refresh herself, Malle began the tedious ritual of the day’s ablutions. 

  
  
  


———~———

  
  
  


Malle had no appetite for the broth and fruits. She had some milk, dipped the bread in it, and got up to take the tray downstairs. The door opened to reveal Mycroft dressed in his travelling coat, cravat and hat. 

“You’re leaving so soon?!” Malle could not help feel the sense of abandonment, again. 

“I have to, your _Highness,_ " Mycroft scoffed. "Lord Magnussen is expecting my presence in Snowdonia this noon. If I am not present there will be grave consequences. I apologise for all the inconvenience that this has caused you. Am confident that the matter will be resolved in a couple of days. Please bear with me. Thank you.” He tried to put on a reassuring smile, which turned into a grimace.

Turning to leave, he paused at the doorway. “If you feel the urge to venture out, please do it _before_  daybreak; and _return_ within the hour. The chapel will be watched by Magnussen’s men once my arrival has been noted. I hope to send one of my guards to be of service to you as soon as possible. Good day,  **madam** .” Curtly he disappeared down the stairs without glancing back , the reproachful tone ringing in Malle’s ears. 

  
  
  


———~———

  
  


####  [[Baskerville Hall](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hound_of_the_Baskervilles#/media/File:Clyro_Court_\(1293400\).jpg){9} \-  Day 4, close to dawn]

 

“You should learn to use the front door; being a grown man now.” The deep voice that emerged from under the curtains around the bed was as alert as a watchful hunter.

Lord [Siarl](https://www.behindthename.com/name/siarl){10} Baskerville* was the only person, other than Mycroft, who could see through Sherlock’s beguiling nature. 

 

“It is a matter of urgency. And demands stealth,” was Sherlock’s quick repartee. He was already out the bedroom door, leaving the window that he had used to enter the bedroom in the second floor open.

 

More agile than his age would suggest, Lord Siarl swiftly rose from his bed, grabbed the robe and followed Sherlock down the corridor to his study in the first floor, the obvious destination.

 

“There is not a moment to lose. I need to contact Irene Adler. And you need to send [Harri](https://www.behindthename.com/name/harry){11} to Moriarty in the pretext of negotiating ties with his Kingdom.” Sherlock was already in the study, shifting books, searching for the secret latch. “Ah!” He pressed the lever, opened the door and disappeared down the stairs. 

“And where is Mycroft? Does he know of whatever it is that you are up to?” Not in the least bit amazed at Sherlock’s thoroughness of his home, Lord Siarl followed him, coming to his own conclusions behind the instructions.

 

\------~------

####  _ [History of the Holmes family and Baskerville family friendship] _

 

The Holmes family were very close to the [Baskervilles](http://www.happywarrior.org/genealogy/lleweni.htm){12}. They often held hunting parties, when there were matters of political secrets that were to be discreetly discussed. 

The only person who would tolerate Sherlock’s antiques was his son Harri. Not out of pity for the wiry bouncing ‘brother he never had’, who was full of energy and no regard for authority, or out of fear. It was pure devotion. 

While Mycroft kept to his reading and sketching, Sherlock explored the [Baskerville Hall](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Llyweni_Hall_02203.jpg#/media/File:Llyweni_Hall_02203.jpg){13.}, which was full of secret passages and hidden rooms. Lord Siarl indulged the enthusiastic boy, if only to build some courage into his feeble son, who kept to his rooms once the grounds were clear of the ‘intruders’. 

 

 

———~———

  
  


“You do realise that the passage leads only till the[ Cedar tree](http://www.bl.uk/onlinegallery/onlineex/topdrawings/t/005add000015542u00141000.html){14}, the rest of the tunnel being destroyed after the fire?” said Lord Siarl, still unclear of Sherlock’s line of action. 

“I only need a little cover, in case I’ve been followed. Once I get to the[ Horseshoe](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horseshoe_Pass)[ Pass](https://www.walkingbritain.co.uk/walk-1958-map){15}, they will be in my territory,” dismissing Lord Siarl’s concerns, Sherlock opened a cupboard built into the wall at the base of the stairs. 

“Are you still monitoring Stapleton’s moves? If you can feed him some false rumours, we have a chance of winning this gambit,” murmured Sherlock, as he rummaged through the cupboards’ shelves, taking out a parchment and quill. 

“Yes, he is in Snowdonia at present, supposedly spying for me on King Moriarty,” saying so, Lord Siarl handed him the ink pot, and watched silently, hands folded across his chest, one leg crossed over the other, leaning against the frame of the cupboard. 

“This needs to be delivered to Sir John Watson in Pembrokeshire. It is of utmost importance. Do not delay!” handing over the folded parchment, Sherlock walked towards the opening of the tunnel. 

“May I enquire as to the  _ nature _ of this ‘gambit’. Just so that I am prepared for any eventual endangerment.” Lord Siarl stood his ground, displeased with Sherlock’s unmindfulness, not only putting his son in danger, but also for expecting him to blindly follow! 

Turning on the spot swiftly, meeting the steely gaze of his interlocutor calmly, “I expected you to be more intelligent than this, my Lord. All that I can reveal at the moment is that we need to create a diversion, distract the stooges into complacency, until Mycroft is able to finish his ‘task’,” replied Sherlock, his voice getting colder and haughtier with each word.  

Lord Siarl watched the light from the lamp that Sherlock had grabbed on his way fade into the tunnel. He was coming to his own conclusions regarding the Magnussen conundrum. Yet, he liked to have all the facts before plotting his course of action. 

Sighing, deep in thought, he climbed the stairs back to his study, and sat down to prepare two missives - one for his son, and one for Stapleton. 

  
  
  
  


———~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~———

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *History of Baskerville Hall
> 
> Lord Charles/Siarl is the grandson of Sir Robert Salusbury, originally from Dartmoor, Wiltshire, who married Lady Lleweni of Ruthin, Denbighshire, and took up residence in Lleweni Hall, renaming it Baskerville Hall, in memory of his ancestors. 
> 
> Sir Robert was a highly regarded statesman, and the family was still held in great esteem among the upper echelons. This was an advantage to Lord Siarl, who married into an American family, thus doubling the inheritance for his son, Harri Baskerville, who was too mild to battle the sharks of society.
> 
> P.S. This is a work of fiction and I am borrowing original names to make it interesting to the reader. Sincerely apologise if anyone is offended. Please let me know and I will gladly remove the aforementioned details. Thank you.


	7. Ensnaring the Ambusher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary help Eurus settle in convincingly, Mycroft is apprised of the situation with Irene Adler, who is forced into a daring plan by Sherlock, Moriarty questions Moran's loyalty, while Anthea learns about Magnussen's situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a lot is going on in this chapter. I have included them together as it is all happening simultaneously in different parts of the Kingdom. Each scene is linked to the main story. Hope you are not too confused.
> 
> Adding two footnotes at the end, for clarifying how 1.Mary and 2.Anthea fit into this story.
> 
> ..................................
> 
> A few links - 
> 
> a. Conwy Castle - it's history  
> b. Lady Irene - wiki link  
> c. Godfrei - family history  
> d. Aberconwy House - a 14th century merchant house that still exists  
> e. Aberconwy House - pic

###  _**Chapter  6 - Ensnaring the Ambusher** _

 

####  _[Pembroke Castle - Day 4, morn]_

 

“You really think this is a good idea?” John couldn’t help hound Mary in the kitchen. He was worried. This was _not_ going to work. How could Sherlock think that _everyone_ were fools?

 

Eurus was safely ensconced in the Princess's bedroom. They had managed to sneak her in as a scullery maid. Sherlock had left her by the edge of the forest with one of his cavalry, who helped her enter the castle walls unnoticed.

Now _that_ was a terrifying thought. If the ‘cavalry’ could enter unnoticed, so could Moriarty’s spies!

 

“I’ll make it look like she’s tired, recovering from the fever. Don’t worry so much. You need to go find out about what Magnussen’s aides are upto,” Mary said, as she busied herself with what looked like milk and lemon and tomato.

“I’ve already gone about it. They’re too inebriated to notice anything under their nose!” John replied, disgusted.

“This early in the morning?!” Mary couldn’t help the outburst.

 

He looked suspiciously at the bowl. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a trick I learned from my mum. Make a paste and allow to dry after applying on your face. You’ll look pale as if you’ve just seen a ghost,” saying that, Mary added more ingredients, mixed them well, covered it with a lid and walked out of the kitchen, covered bowl in hand.

“I’ll go check on the security then,” John said to Mary’s retreating back. He knew he’d only be in the way. There was only so much a man could do.

———~———

Janine was tired of the charade. She trusted Sherlock to keep her secret. But, playing a dumb girl, laughing at immoderate jokes made by her Uncle’s councillors was getting on her nerves.

Thoughts straying to the beautiful Lady Irene, memories of her poised dignity even in the presence of heartrending struggles rose up in her mind. Something to be strived for. That inspiration gave her the  strength to not fake a headache and escape to her room.

Trying hard to not openly lean back from the leering ‘gentleman’ who was animatedly describing his exploits of bygone days, she noticed the entry of Sir John, the Captain’s right hand. Also, someone Sherlock seemed to converse with frequently.

“Please excuse me. I have to enquire about the health of the Princess,” Janine gracefully exited her seat, and meandered among the scattered guests towards John.

———~———

Eurus sat watching Mary tidy the dresser, which was covered with spillage of the artistry that was now displayed on her face; hair strewn around and over her shoulders,  eyes sunken with dark circles, cheeks pale, lips chapped red.

“You should have allowed Wiggins to stay for a day,” Eurus said softly, tilting her head to a side, hands placed parallel on her thighs. Her dark eyes boring into Mary, assessing.

“It’s not up to me, m’Lady. He was in a hurry; John said, also, ..” Mary cleared her throat, “It was not wise of you to travel here. Well, no use talking of what’s done.”

 

As Mary filled the bowl with the pieces of cloth she had used to daub Eurus’ face, there was a knock on the door. Glancing at Eurus who gave her an imperceptible nod, Mary went over, bowl in hand, and slowly opening the door just a fraction, peeped out.

 

“What shall I tell Lady Janine? She just asked after the Princess. I’ve sent her to the library, hoping to keep her occupied,” asked John, clearly agitated, keeping the impulse to peep into the room under control, both hands balled into fists.

“I’ve done my best. Why don’t you take a look,” Mary opened the door fully, giving John a glimpse of the ghostly form wrapped in a shawl, staring at him with motionless eyes.

“Right. So, shall I, .. What do I _tell_ her? That the princess is well enough for visitors?” John looked askance at Mary.

“Trust me. She hasn’t seen the princess or her portraits. Now go fetch her before she finds some in the library!” Mary shooed him away towards the stairs.

———~———

 

“You seem quite confident in your skills,” Eurus’ silky tone would give a normal maid shudders. But, Mary was no ‘normal’ maid. Very few knew that, though.

“I’ve spent quite a lot of time evading unwanted attention to blend in, m’Lady,” was Mary’s humble reply. Curtseying, she closed the door and headed downstairs.

 

Mary was mentally going through all the facts gathered in the last few days, as she hurried to the kitchen to clean the incriminating evidence.*[1]

 

\------~------

 

####  _[The Bank of Anglesey - Day 4, close to noon]_

Mycroft Holmes was in a foul mood and the carriage door bore the brunt of his anger. The footman scuttled away from the firing line of his Master.

Heading straight to the office, he was met by Anthea, opening the door for him. Nodding in acknowledgement, they entered together.

 

“These are for your purview, my Lord,” Anthea said, placing a few parchments on his desk.

 Looking through them without taking a seat, Mycroft espied a small paper with the words

 

 

 

> _“Snow Queen melting” ._

Slowly turning his head and glancing at Anthea, head still bent, eyebrows knitted questioningly, “Shall we make the necessary arrangements?” cryptically he asked.

“Yes, my Lord,” smartly replied Anthea, and curtseying, left the office.

 

Mycroft strode to the fireplace, rearranged the logs, placed the note in the centre, and watched it burn down to ashes.

Fingers reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he stroked the scroll of parchment he had procured from under his bed that morning; all along reinforcing his mental armour.

 

\------~------

####  _[[ Conwy ](https://erskinearms.co.uk/conwys-history/) Castle {a} - Day 4, close to noon] _

[Lady Irene ](http://bakerstreet.wikia.com/wiki/Irene_Adler){b}was pacing her room. Her staff had rarely seen her  agitated. The only time was when her husband Lord William [ Godefrei ](https://www.ancestry.com/name-origin?surname=godfrey){c}was bedridden with an unknown illness.

 

“You’re leaving right now, my Lady? But, you’ve just got back!” asked her maid, busy with rekindling the dying fire.

 

Lady Irene was preoccupied; her thoughts racing through strategies, discarding each one as they rose up in her mind.

Her heart straying to[ Aberconwy House ](https://www.visitwales.com/explore/north-wales/llandudno-colwyn-bay/must-do-in-conwy){d} deterred her from making a quick decision.

 

The commotion in the hall downstairs brought her out of the haze. As her maid rushed out towards the stairs, Lady Irene composed herself and walked out sedately, watching from a distance.

 

“You cannot enter our Lady’s house without permission! Who _are_ you!?” her footman was struggling to hold back someone appearing to be a peasant, but clearly far more educated from his stance.

“I need help. Please. I have been injured. You do not understand!” the voice was familiar. She looked closely, from above the stairs and recognised the Holmes brother - Sherlock. He looked very dishevelled.

 

“Take him to my study,” Lady Irene commanded, walking back to her chamber she shut the door.

 

\------~------

 

####  _[Snowdonia Castle - Day 4, close to noon]_

“Your Majesty, General Moran,” the page bowed, announcing the arrival of King Moriarty’s trusted right hand and army head.

 

“What news, Moran?” Moriarty enquired regally from his desk, perusing a pile of documents.

“Stapleton has just received a note from Baskerville, asking him to keep an eye on Harri Baskerville, as he visits you, your Majesty,” Moran said, sounding unconvinced of the news.

“You suspect foul-play,” Moriarty stated; still going over the parchments.

“Well, Lord Siarl is no fool; and Master Sherlock was followed up until the Horseshoe Pass,” apologetically Moran added, head bent in deference.

“And you LOST him?!! I have imbeciles in my employ! Should I do _everything_ myself! Why do I pay you, ALL of You!!” shouted Moriarty as he kicked back the chair in one swift shove and paced over to the fruit tray on the table by the fireplace.

“It is clear that the Princess is in Pembroke castle. My sources vouch for the truth of the matter. What we are unaware of is the nature of the younger Holmes’ movement across the country,” Moran could not finish his expostulation, trying to justify their failure.

“Of course you are not! He is far too clever and devious for you. That does not mean you sit back and wait for _him_ to make a blunder!” throwing the knife that he was using to cut an apple, Moriarty paced towards Moran, as the knife lodged in the wooden wall close to Moran’s ear.

 

Maintaining his stance, Moran defiantly added, “Lord Mycroft is trying to convince the heads of the Bank of Anglesey to accept the demands of Magnussen. He’s just arrived from the Holmes Manor and is in an urgent meeting.”

“And you believe _that_ is his intention,” Moriarty’s silkily soft whisper of a voice in his ear, Moran hid the shudder of fear and replied, “Yes, I do, your Majesty.”

 

“Well then , we shall have to see how it plays out, won’t we! Or else, the next time, I will not miss,” softly adding, Moriarty swivelled away, towards his desk, picked up a parchment, and read,

 

 

 

> _“Snow Princess being moved to a safe place t’night  - birdie.”_
> 
> __

“And, what do you make of that?” Moriarty threw the parchment onto Moran; it fluttered to the floor.

 

As Moran stood there watching the words scribbled in an illegible hand, Moriarty advanced in full force, caught him by the collar of his lapels, and pulled him down to his level.

“You better find the person behind this daring task fast, if you want to keep that pretty head of yours on,” threatened Moriarty, and shoved him back.

 

As he took his seat by the fire, Moran bowed and left him to his calculations. His sources were always right. Wishing that he had more trusted employees like in the Holmes household, Moriarty jumped up in full vigour resolving to take matters into his own hands.

 

———~———

 

####  _[*2][Outside Lord Culverton’s Office - The Bank of Anglesey - Day 4, noon]_

“And where is Lord Magnussen?” the clerk sitting by the desk outside Lord Culverton’s office asked the departing page.

“He’s in hospital. The fire was too rapid. His whole house is almost burnt down!” the boy replied excitedly.

“You got the news from the stable boys, then?” the clerk continued his query, not allowing the boy to go, digging for more information.

“Yes! Luckily, the boys were light footed. Animals are all safe. And most of the staff too. The fire seems to have affected the East wing most,” the boy hurriedly answered turning to go.

“That’s where Lord Magnussen resides, yes?” continued the clerk.

“Mhm,” grunted the boy and ran out of the waiting room.

 

“May I see my father now?” Anthea politely reminded the clerk.

“Hm, yes. Let me see,” the clerk said, not sounding in the least apologetic. He walked to the door, knocked and entered.

 

Muffled sounds behind the shut door were followed by Lord Culverton himself appearing by the door, “My Dear! Come in, come in. Haven’t I told you not to wait for an invitation?”

He shepherded Anthea into the office and closed the door. Returning to the table, Culverton gathered the scattered documents and arranging into a stack, slid them inside his desk drawer.

 

“So, what is it that you would like of me?” he smiled, asking Anthea the same question every time they met.

“Lord Mycroft has asked me to gather the board for an urgent meeting, as requested by Lord Magnussen. What time shall I ask them to appear?” Anthea asked innocently. She was well aware of the danger in letting slip knowledge acquired through gossip.

“Oh, we may have to postpone the meeting. Something has come up. Why don’t you tell Lord Mycroft to come and meet me in an hour. Yes, dear?” smoothly he countered. Smiling, he walked towards her and escorted her out of the office.

 

———~———

####  _[Pembroke Castle - Day 4, noon]_

“What r’you doing here, John. It’s high time you paid attention to matters of security, instead of following me around the kitchen!” Mary asked, sounding more amused than annoyed.

“Well, I am not sure if our plan will work; and if so, we need to think of a back-up one, don’t we?” John asked, clearly anxious.

“I think you are panicking without cause. Has Wiggins gone? Lady Eurus mentioned that he’s to stay.” Mary said innocently.

“Mmh? No, no. He said his job’s done. The spies of Moriarty believe that Our Lady is in the castle. It’s just, ..” John’s sudden silence alerted Mary.

“Yes?” she asked encouragingly.

“Well, I got this note from Sherlock, after Wiggins left; it seems Lady Malle is safe, and Lord Mycroft is back in Anglesey.” Thoughtfully he hummed.

 

“What is it?” Mary was getting worried now.

“Well, he wants me to send someone trustworthy to guard her. And, I feel that I should go. It simply is not safe to  ..” John paused, stumped for words.

“What’bout Sally? She’ll be a good choice,” Mary asked, while planning in her head.

“It’s too dull a task. She wouldn’t stay put in one place,” John answered thoughtfully.

“Well, then you _must_ go. But, won’t you be missed here?” Mary tried to reassure him.

“Mm, yes. That’s the problem. How about Dimmock? You think we can trust him?” John looked at Mary, still lost in his thoughts.

“Why not leave it to me, yes?” Mary said, patting his shoulder and walking towards the door.

John followed her, saying “Yes, I suppose so. Better go see the Captain then. Some messenger has arrived from the outpost.”

As John walked away towards the heart of the castle, Mary pondered that information for a second, then rushed out into the garden and down the path.

 

———~———

 

####  _[[Aberconwy](http://www.beenthere-donethat.org.uk/conwy24big.html) {e}House] _

“Now be a good girl and go with the gentleman. He will take you to Uncle Siarl. You know mama has to meet the King, and only then can she come and get you,” Lady Irene talked to her daughter in the sing-song fashion that she liked, as she dressed her up in her coat and hat.

“Mhm,” Claudette replied, holding onto her kneeling mother’s arms as she balanced herself.

“That is enough with all the fussing! The drugged maid and footman will wake up soon and your staff at the Castle may have already alerted Moriarty about your leaving alone. Come on then!” Sherlock paced the small room, agitated, trying to speak sense into the seemingly calm mother.

“Behave, do not trouble Uncle Siarl, do not go out alone and always be with your cousin Harri, do you hear me?” Irene kept talking to her daughter as she picked her up and walked out of the chambers, through the hall to the kitchen door.

 

Sherlock fled past them, exclaiming, “When I give the signal, run!” Yanking open the door, searching with his eyes, inspecting the garden and surrounding bushes for any sign of movement, he then signalled for her to follow.

 

As soon as they made it to the bushes, Sherlock plucked the child from her mother, mounted the horse loosely tied to a nearby bush and galloped away.

Lady Irene stood watching the horse and it’s rider disappear till she knew it was futile to linger there any longer. Making up her mind, steeling her heart, the woman walked swiftly towards her horse, mounted it with beguiling agility and galloped towards Conwy Castle.

  


———~———~———~———~———~———~———

~———~———~———~———~———~

———~———~———~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1.Mary's pondering about her past and her present role- 
> 
> [Mary’s past]
> 
> Recruited by Mycroft Holmes six years ago, she slowly and steadily learned the rules of the game and excelled in it. 
> 
> Her father, originally from Ireland, had fled the then King’s [Moriarty’s grandfather] tyranny. He had died in the battle at Pembrokeshire fighting the invasion of King Moriarty of Ireland. 
> 
> His loyalty was not forgotten by King Eadweard, Princess Malle's father, who paid off debts of the bereaving family; and also took her in, appointing her ‘companion’ and maid to his daughter, Princess Malle. 
> 
> As much as she took her task of protecting the Princess seriously, she also kept her word to Mycroft. Never speaking of her involvement with the Holmes senior to anyone, their only mode of contact were cryptic messages through Ajay Singh, a coal merchant. This man was Mycroft’s confidante, a trained warrior from India, who had met him during his journeys for the bank.
> 
> [Mary's worries]
> 
> Wiggins was meant to stay? What did Eurus mean? She needed to get a clearer picture. John would know, especially with Wiggins meeting him in the woods. And who was the charwoman who met him later? Better be careful, though; or John would suspect.
> 
> So many underestimate that man’s ability!
> 
> Their biggest secret, a mad sister, now let loose onto the world; mere knowledge of a sister being kept hidden all these years was in itself a revelation of the nature of the Holmes family! 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> *2.Anthea's musings while waiting outside Culverton's office - 
> 
> [Lord Culverton’s Office - The Bank of Anglesey - Day 4, noon]
> 
>  
> 
> Anthea waited outside her father’s office, reminiscing the path that she chose, over the last couple of years. 
> 
> Adopted at an early age of three, she always wondered about her birth parents. Not that Lord Culverton ever mistreated her. On the contrary; he gave her a good education, in par with the men, gave her the freedom to make her own decisions, and never disrespected her.
> 
> Only eighteen, she was the youngest employee in the bank; also the only female employee!
> 
> The secret meetings and undisclosed travels of Lord Culverton made her explore the background of the man who was her guardian; and what she discovered chilled her to the bone.
> 
> Not only was she his sister’s daughter, he was responsible for their deaths. The outward show of guardianship was a facade - to keep her inheritance for himself. 
> 
> Her mother had discovered Lord Culverton’s hidden dealings with Lord Magnussen and had tried to reveal his true nature. Something, Lord Mycroft had already suspected. Although he did not reveal the true extent of the arrangement, he seemed to know the truth behind her parent’s death.
> 
> On confronting him, Lord Mycroft reluctantly informed her that it was true. He then garnered her help in finding details of a plot to overthrow the Bank’s authority. 
> 
> As a lady, most people ignored her presence in the office, giving her the opportunity to listen in on conversations. Lord Culverton was sharp enough to be careful around her. But, his staff were less cautious. Their gossips helped her in her quest.


	8. Restoration of Peace / The End of the Journey or A New Beginning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter opens with Malle's musings. Ending with her learning a little more about the hidden sister.  
> While Mycroft labours to bring Culverton to justice with Anthea's help and triumphs; Eurus joins Janine's journey to London to visit Lord Magnussen, accompanied by Mary and Gregory.  
> Lady Irene counters King Moriarty smoothly; who outwits all with his scheming, forcing Lord Siarl to act swiftly and decisively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The links:  
> 1\. St. Bartholomew's - a Historical background to Eighteenth-century London.  
> 2\. St.Bartholomew’s Hospice - wiki link to it's history.  
> 3\. breeches - a background study of 16th to 18th Century clothing.  
> 4\. greatcoat - a picture.  
> 5\. Royal Naval - picture.  
> 6\. Aberconwy House - wiki link to the original place.  
> 7\. National flower of Wales - wiki link.  
> 8\. Saint David's Day - wiki link.  
> 9\. Celtic Tree - History and Symbolism.
> 
> \---------------------------------
> 
> The Celtic reference will become more clear in later chapters. Sorry for the confusion :)

###  _** Chapter - 7  Restoration of Peace / The End of the Journey or A New Beginning? ** _

####  _[Day 4, close to evening]_

####  _[The Chapel in Holyhead ]_

 

Malle watched the woman sent by Mary clean up her room. “Gabriel?” she hesitated for a moment, “Is Eurus Holmes safe in Pembrokeshire?”

Gabriel continued the cleaning and answered without looking up “Yes, ma’am.”

“When can I return?” Malle asked tentatively.

“I’m not sure, ma’am. I’ve been sent to keep you safe till you can be taken back to your da.” Gabriel replied hurriedly, as she finished her task and fled downstairs.

 

Malle sat pondering the matter. It must be past noon now. Lord Mycroft would have met Magnussen. If all goes well, then maybe by tonight she could return?

It was only hours to twilight. Then perhaps she could venture out of the chapel, for a walk, not far, just around the cottage; a little fresh air, peruse the plants.

Holding her log-book in her ams, Malle wondered if it was Mary or maybe Sherlock who sent it through Gabriel.

Sighing she rose from her seat by the table and walked over to the books Eurus had left scattered all over the table. Picking up the volume on History of Anglesey, she continued her reading, determined to know more about the Holmes family and the odd siblings.

 

\------~------

 

####  _[Bank of Anglesey - Lord Mycroft’s Office]_

“If Lord Magnussen is seriously injured, it has to be Lord Culverton’s doing. He has been scheming to get at him for sometime now. Though I would not put it past Sherlock’s ‘cavalry’ either,” adding as an afterthought, Mycroft paced the office, considering his next move.

“Also, my Lord, news from the Conwy Castle is disturbing,” Anthea prompted, awaiting further instructions.

“You need to be in Snowdonia. Request the King’s audience. Then present the situation softly but firmly, as if requesting a pardon for your father.” Mycroft thoughtfully directed.

“Yes, my Lord. Is it safe for you to deal with my father’s arrest alone?” Anthea could not help ask.

“Well, there is no other way. If he threatens to create a scene, I will have to call the guards. After all, I do have proof for his hand in the murder of your parents. This will be the opportunity to use it against him. Two birds in one stone,” Mycroft replied automatically, rubbing his neck.

“But, to link Lord Magnussen’s attack to him …” Anthea stopped seeing the stiffening of Mycroft’s shoulders, as he walked over to the desk. “I’ll be on my way then, my Lord.” Bobbing a curtsy, she left the office.

\------~------

 

####  _[Pembroke Castle]_

“Are you up for a long journey this soon, my Lady. You do not look very well. I can travel alone. Have been doing it for quite some time now,” Janine sounded genuinely concerned for the Princess.

“Of course I will be fine, once I breathe some fresh air and see the world a little,” replied Eurus, patting Janine’s hand. “You should go pack for the journey back. I shall join you in a short while.”

Nodding, Janine dipped her head in a bob and walked past Mary without a glance.

 

Mary continued to arrange the clothes in a trunk, waiting for almost a minute before asking “Is’t wise? I’m not so sure the King will agree. And, there could be many who’d recognise Lady Malle for .…”

Eurus held up her hand, closed her eyes, and said nothing.

Mary shut her mouth and watched Eurus speculatively.

“I will need Captain Lestrade to accompany me. Also, my brother needs to be informed of my departure,” Eurus walked towards Mary, as she spoke, paused and said, “There are ways to fend off unwanted attention, is there not?” Eurus gave Mary a dead stare and walked towards her vanity mirror.

\------~------

 

####  _[Conwy Castle]_

“Good to see you keep your word, my Lady,” Moriarty crooned as he advanced towards the approaching figure of Irene Adler, the hunter to the prey.

Smiling sweetly, she extended her hand, watching the King of Snowdonia fawn over her with fake enthusiasm.

“How can one not obey the King’s command, your Majesty?” welcoming him, she took his elbow and led them both into the castle.

“Did you have a pleasant ride?” looking at her sideways, Moriarty asked with a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Just the usual, along the countryside. Helps keep me in shape, your Majesty,” Lady Adler patted his arm, and led him to the parlour. Then added, “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“Why, I thought I should personally invite your daughter and yourself to a gala that is taking place this evening at the palace. How is Claudette? You did mention that she is ill?” sympathetically Moriarty pursed his lips, watching Irene closely, while she walked to the bell-pull.

“Oh, she is much better, thank you. Please be seated, your Majesty, my maid will bring in the tea soon,” gestured Lady Adler as she sat on the chair next to the fireplace facing away from the window.

“Why don’t you join me here, my Lady?” Moriarty patted the love-seat in front of the French-window while seating himself in the centre.

\------~------

A knock on the parlour door made Lady Irene respond “Come in,” automatically, without moving an inch from her place next to the King.

“My Lady, there is a young man who requests to meet His Highness urgently,” the maid announced.

Lady Adler looked askance at Moriarty who waved his hand in permission.

“Who could know of your presence here, having just arrived?” Irene asked conversationally.

“Oh, most of England!” exclaimed Moriarty, smiling wide, eyes round as saucers. Then abruptly he stood up from his place next to Lady Adler and hands fisted together behind his back scrutinised the individual entering the parlour with the maid.

 

“Your…, your Majesty. My father insisted that I give you this information personally,” said the boy, hesitantly, as he proffered the scroll bearing the seal of Baskerville Hall.

 

“Why not take a seat, Harri, while I write a reply to Siarl.” Moriarty directed to the sofa, as he broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.

 

 

 

> ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………........................
> 
> **_‘Your knight has attacked your bishop, leaving your Queen vulnerable to your rook and pawns.’_ **
> 
> ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………........................

  
  


“Ah, yes. I have urgent business to attend to, my Lady. More invites and so forth. I think Siarl is not expecting a reply. Looking forward to seeing you at the Gala. You too, Harri. Join in the festivities. Enjoy life!” With that outburst, abruptly turning, Moriarty left the parlour. Walking out of Conwy Castle and entering his carriage, the King sped off with his entourage.

\------~------

 

####  _[A carriage with Lady Janine and Lady Eurus and the maid Mary]_

 Mary kept glancing at Eurus, who seemed unaffected by the circuitous route of the carriage.

 

“How long is it to your house?” Eurus asked politely, as if engrossed in the view, watching the road and passers-by.

“Oh, I thought we could visit my uncle first, if you are not too tired, that is!” Janine exclaimed.

“Of course not. I am quite capable of withstanding a few hours carriage-ride. You should visit your uncle,” Eurus reassured her, patting her hand briefly and continued looking out the window of the carriage.

“I am terribly sorry that I did not mention it! It has been very distressing, the sudden news, and, …” Janine started sobbing.

“Please, dear. I can easily relate to losing a loved one. No need to apologise. Here, take this,” Eurus comforted her and gave a handkerchief.

“He has been like a father to me,” Janine sobbed as she spoke, “and I would be all alone if something were to happen to him.”

 

Mary watched the drama passively, admiring the deft handling of the Holmes sibling as well as the grief act of the niece. This was going to be a _long_ ride, she decided, and sat back. Captain Lestrade following the carriage with his guards was definitely comforting. She will need to make Lady Eurus wear bigger hats to hide her face.

As Mary tried to surmise John’s range of emotions on hearing of the proposed trip, Eurus engaged Janine in inane chatter.

\------~------

 

####  _[Snowdonia Castle]_

“And what do you hope to achieve?” in a benignly subtle voice, the King of Snowdonia asked. Moriarty was strolling along his courtyard, Anthea following him, at a close distance, fingers clasped in a sign of despair.

“My father could be innocent, your Majesty. Please, give him a patient hearing. He has always been a loyal subject,” Anthea subjugated her emotions and spoke softly.

“Why not join me?! I am to visit a close friend of your father’s. You are aware of his predicament, yes?” invited Moriarty; he turned to her suddenly, hands held behind his back, scrutinising her expressionless face.

“Yes, I am, your Majesty. I shall, if it would please you,” Anthea bowed her head in deference and waited.

“Do you know how serious his injuries are? He is said to be hospitalised, yes?” Moriarty enquired, awaiting a reply.

“Yes, your Majesty. At [  **St Bartholomew's**](https://www.londonlives.org/static/Hospitals.jsp) {1}. They are well equipped in managing severe cases of burns. I have only heard that Lord Magnussen’s house has been damaged greatly - a fire almost burnt down the whole of the east wing,” Anthea succinctly gave the information she had gathered.

“We must move post-haste! Guards, send for my carriage!” Moriarty cried out, rushing through the castle. 

———~———

 

####  _[Lord Culverton’s Office]_

“You will regret this, Holmes! I promise you!” with seething rage, the defiant Lord Culverton brandished his fists at Mycroft, who stood passively like a spectator.

“What proof do you have of this heinous accusation?! Do not for a moment think the King will let this betrayal slide,” Culverton’s voice grew louder, while the guards that had accompanied Mycroft were trying to distance themselves from the man.

 

Mycroft gave a brief nod and the two guards braced themselves and tackled Culverton onto his table, pinning his arms behind his back. While one held onto his wrists, the other righted him and held him by the right arm dragging the raging man away from his office.

 

Contemplating his next move, Mycroft swiftly closed the door to Culverton’s office, locked it and began his search. The long desk with eight chairs around it had no hidden compartments. The place was clean; no documents that would incriminate him. He will have to search the man’s house.

 

Grimacing, Mycroft sank into the chair at the table head. Sitting back, hands resting on the arms of the chair, he closed his eyes, fingers gripping the edges. Mycroft’s eyes flew open! Feeling with his left forefinger, he detected a tiny groove under the curve of the wood in the armrest. Wedging his nail in helped lift the whole piece of wood to reveal a secret compartment that seemed to be in regular use.

There were a few documents folded and tied together by a ribbon. Carefully retrieving them, Mycroft placed them in his jacket, closed the armrest, patted it and made his way casually out the door.

 

The clerk had been dismissed before the arrest. The deserted office presaged a change, not only within the institution, but for the entire country.

———~———

 

####  _[[St.Bartholomew’s Hospice]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Bartholomew%27s_Hospital) {2} _

The carriage stopped next to a fountain placed in the centre of the entrance to the Hospice. Run by missionaries, the place was more like a holiday retreat than a hospital.

Eurus exited the carriage along with Janine. “I shall await you in the garden with Mary,” Eurus said in a tired tone.

Janine, alarmed asked immediately, “Are you sure? I could take you to the house, if you need to rest.”

“No, please do not bother; I simply need some fresh air,” Eurus replied with a faint smile.

“Yes, my lady,” Janine swiftly departed, leaving Eurus with Mary, who had followed them out of the carriage and was glancing around in search of Commander Lestrade.

“Commander, our Lady wishes to take a walk in the garden. Hope it’s of no inconvenience?” Mary asked permission, hinting  at the arrangement with Janine.

“Not at all. My Lady,” Gregory addressed Eurus directly, bowing as if to the Princess.

Scrutinising him for a moment, Eurus tilted her head a little to maintain eye contact from below the large hat that Mary had adorned her with.

Smiling sweetly, she waved to Mary who took her arm and escorted her around the fountain, towards the garden path.

———~———

 

####  _[Musings of the King’s Command]*{see footnote below}_

 

———~———

 

####  _[ Baskerville Hall]_

“Get the carriage ready!” Lord Siarl shouted in a frenzy. The messenger from Conwy castle had just delivered news of the King’s purpose of visit. He had no time to wait for Sherlock.

 

Changing swiftly into his silk[ breeches](http://www.history.org/history/clothing/men/mglossary.cfm) {3} and a fine linen shirt, he ruled out the red[ greatcoat](http://www.history.org/history/clothing/men/images/greatcoat1.jpg) {4} which was traditional to Llewellyn, and opted for a[ Royal Naval](https://nmm.mediastorehouse.com/image.php?large=3686785) {5} one. No point in antagonising the King.

Tying the cravat as he ran out into the courtyard, he snatched his walking stick from the page and agilely jumped through the carriage door held open by his footman.

Patting his coat pocket, Lord Siarl pulled out his gloves and calmly pulled them on, contemplating the chaos Sherlock had created, removing the child presumptuously!

They will have to meet Lady Irene halfway to the King’s castle and make it appear that she needed help with a broken down carriage.

What of the servants in[ Aberconwy House](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aberconwy_House#/media/File:Aberconwy_House,_High_St_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1477020.jpg) {6}? Will paying them to remain silent be enough? Could be treacherous, still.

———~———

 

####  _[The Garden In St. Bartholomew’s Hospice]_

“Your Highness! You’ve been invited to the King’s court!” Lady Janine hurried towards the figure of Eurus walking hand-in-hand with Mary.

Pausing for her to catch up, Eurus shifted slightly, keeping her vision of the Commander and her ‘maid’ in range. Extending her other hand, Eurus smiled pleasantly saying, “Is that so? And how did he learn so fast of my arrival in town?”

Sheepishly Janine answered, “It may have slipped from my mouth.”

“Not to worry. Although, I am not sure if I have the right attire for court,” Eurus added thoughtfully.

“We can fix that! Oh, It will be wonderful! Let us go home, come,” Janine sounded too enthusiastic, especially after just meeting her injured uncle.

 

Mary and Gregory exchanged a quick glance while following the two ladies.

———~———

 

####  _[The Chapel In Holyhead - Day 4, close to twilight]_

 

Malle re-read the description again and again. Where had she seen this before. The drawing looked so familiar. “Oh!” she exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth.

It was the pendant that Eurus wore, hidden under her high collared dress. When she had changed in Malle’s presence, the chain was visible, twinkling in the lamp’s light.

She knew that the daffodil was the[ National flower](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_symbols_of_Wales) {7} of Wales, associated with[ Saint David's Day](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_David%27s_Day) {8}.

As she read more about Ireland’s influence on Wales, she discovered the [Celtic Tree](http://www.treeremoval.com/celtic-tree-of-life/#.XHgESlMzZcx) {9}, a symbol of balance and harmony.

 

“M’lady! It’s time!” Gabriel rushed upstairs into the quarters and started to get her ready for the journey back home.

 

A little sad, she picked up the book on Irish Influence in Wales that she was reading, along with her log-book and accompanied Gabriel down the stairs; taking one last sweeping glance of the room that had helped her grow mentally and emotionally, much more in a couple of days than all her life in the castle.

 

As they reached the chapel hallway, Malle noticed another man shuffling by the side door. He bowed on seeing her and walked out, presumably to attend to their transportation.

“You are expected to be in Snowdonia by tonight, my Lady,” the pastor, Michael said, as he approached her from the altar.

“Snowdonia? Not back home?” Malle asked, a little surprised.

How could her life have become so tumultuous?

“Thank you, Michael, for all the help. I do hope to see you soon,” Malle gracefully moved forward, extending her hand.

The pastor held her palm with his fingers gently, bowed down and replied, “Yes, your Highness.”

Looking at him and yet unseeing, she felt the heralding of a change so great that it would cause ripples with far reaching effects.

  


———~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~———

———~——————~——————~———

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *[Musings of the King’s Command]
> 
>  
> 
> Captain Gregory Lestrade was a man of few words, especially in the company of Royalty. Even more so, when among strangers. Well-acquainted with the Holmes family, the news of a secret sister made him question his surmises. There was something mysterious about Lady Eurus, something that effused stealth; he had seen that in men who had spent all their lives evading scrutiny.
> 
>  
> 
> He agreed with John, the plan was too dangerous. Granted, very few people knew the princess close enough to recognise her in public. Still, he was responsible for any ruckus that could occur in the name of the King. Watching the retreating figures of Lady Eurus and the maid Mary, he shook his head in disbelief, following at a safe distance.
> 
>  
> 
> As he rounded a shrubbery, the sound of approaching carriage and horses made him pause, giving him a vantage point hidden behind the bush.
> 
>  
> 
> The coat of arms of King Moriarty was recognisable even at this distance. The King got down with a spring in his step and to the commander’s surprise turned back to the carriage, offering his hand. An elegant gloved hand reached out from inside, followed by a dainty head with hair the colour of midnight, tied neatly with ribbons, a few strands caressing the ivory neck. Gracefully she exited the carriage, released the King’s hand and followed him at a respectable distance.
> 
> The hat barely covered her face, revealing features of a strong minded person.
> 
>  
> 
> Torn between the desire to follow the maiden and attending to his duty, the Captain beckoned one of his foot-soldiers and entrusted him with the responsibility of gathering information regarding the presence of the King of Snowdonia and his companion.
> 
> \------------------------
> 
> [More to follow in Act 2 - this is but a short glimpse of their pairing]


	9. The Finale Of Act 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malle, Sherlock and Mycroft dress up for the Gala, while Eurus takes matters into her own hands, leaving Gregory and Anthea to save face.  
> Lady Irene and Lord Siarl blend into the crowd.  
> Mycroft is prepared for the worst, but Moriarty beats them all.  
> Or does he?

_** Chapter - 8  The Finale Of Act 1 ** _

 

_ [Somewhere along the outskirts of Snowdonia - Day 4, close to twilight] _

Sherlock was riding fast, Claudette safely ensconced in front of him, gripping him with all his might, eyes tight shut. He kept talking to her intermittently, words of assurance.

He had to reach Baskerville Hall. _Soon!_

The distant rumble of carriage wheels made him alter his present course, taking to the trees, yet not stopping, for lack of time.

Through the trees, seeing the[ coat of arms](https://coadb.com/surnames/llewellyn-arms.html) of Baskerville Hall, he detoured, overtook the carriage and both carriage and Sherlock’s horse came gliding to a stop.

 

“Give her here!” Lord Siarl ordered, more abruptly than he had meant to.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock picked her up delicately and passed Claudette to the open arms of Lord Baskerville who had opened the carriage door and was leaning out.

 

“We’re all invited to the King’s Gala tonight,” the Lord gainsaid. “Be sure to make an appearance, for your brother’s sake,” he added sarcastically.

 

Sherlock sat still on the horse, both horse and man breathing heavily from the exertion. His mind was rearranging notions, adding the new one to them, altering plans.

 

The horse as well as the rider stood perfectly still, statuesque, a pause in time.

Then he rode like the wind, his eyes depicting an ominous brightness, a clear future in the offing.

———~———

 

_ [Snowdonia Castle - Day 4, twilight] _

The event may have been be a hasty compilation, yet, the turn-out was spectacular. All the nobles from all over the Kingdom had dressed up, to be seen, but also, to see the King who was determined to rule over them.

 

King Moriarty was a conundrum. Not only had he bizarre strategies of invasion, occupation and ruling, but also a razor sharp tongue with acerbic wit. Nobody felt safe under his gaze, yet, more people got caught in his web of deceit and foul play.

 

The guests arrived in carriages flanked by livery clad[ footmen](http://www.victorian-era.org/what-is-a-footman-and-what-were-the-duties.html) denoting their status among the nobles. Warily exiting their carriages near the courtyard, each pair was escorted inside by individual footmen of all three stations.

The occasion was grand and demanded the grandest of all settings.

Bedecked halls were embellished with gold trim curtains and grand chandeliers. Guests entering the hall stood amazed at the ostentatious display of [tapestry](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/94997873375381000/) depicting the[ Celtic Tree of Life](https://www.celtic-weddingrings.com/tree-of-life-meaning).

Equally imposing was the large statue of a [kneeling templar,](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845757901428/) sword held in surrender,  [swearing fealty](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fealty) to the king.

Eurus stood next to it, contemplatively.

 

“M’Lady, we should join the other guests,” Gregory requested softly, keeping a distance, warily watching the immediate vicinity.

“Come, there is more to explore,” Janine excitedly said, pulling at her arm.

 

Gregory watched the ladies float into the castle hall, rubbing his forehead in consternation.

———~———

 

_ [Musgrave Hall - Day 4, twilight] _

Malle was worried. She knew what was at stake. 

Standing in the guest chamber of Musgrave Hall, her thoughts wandered miles ahead, while Mrs. Hudson garbed her in a [gown](http://historicaldress.tumblr.com/post/180997685069/a-dress-of-mid-1740s-spitalfields-silk-altered-in) of sandal shade, the colour complimenting her complexion. 

Thoughtfully watching the red flowers embroidered with care, Malle couldn’t help but smile.

Suddenly the smile was replaced by a frown. What was her role in all this? Was she expected to go to the Gala as Princess Malle? That would surely defeat the purpose. What were they planning? Was all this Sherlock’s doing? _IF_ so it did not feel very rational.

“Mrs. Hudson? Is Eurus still in Pembrokeshire?” Malle asked, hesitantly. She felt like people were asked to keep her in the dark for some particular reason and never questioned it.

“No, m’Lady, she’s been taken to Snowdonia, for the Gala,” Mrs. Hudson mentioned casually, as she fiddled with Malle’s hair.

“Is that safe? And am I to be there as well?” Malle could not help ask, as the dilemma threatened her composure.

“I don’t know, my dear! Yes, you are . I’ve been specifically asked to make you look older than you’re age,” Mrs. Hudson said frustratedly.

“What am I supposed to go as? Do you know?” Malle picked the hem of the neckline, just at the ‘V’, feeling self-conscious.

“You’re a distant cousin of Master Sherlock, betrothed to him. Don’t worry, he’ll take good care of you. He’s a bit boorish, but gentle at heart. Sir Gregory’s there, so you needn’t fear, my dear!” Mrs. Hudson patted her head in self-satisfaction, admiring her work.

———~———

 

_ [Holmes Manor] _

Mycroft was [dressing](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845757711234/) with care, fingers immaculately tying the cravat with practised ease. His mind though was racing like a fox chasing a hare.

Of all the blunders his siblings could commit, going into the bear’s lair weaponless! 

Now it was in his hands to save the day!

As usual. 

He should have known better than to send Malle under Eurus’ care. Sherlock’s influence was evident and disturbing.

Or else, they had to be seeing something larger than what he had envisioned.

Even then, it was foolish! Moriarty may be well aware of their plans. Why else would he declare a Gala all of a sudden? 

A knock on the door roused him from deep within his thoughts.

 

“Yes, enter,” Mycroft grunted as he put on the jacket, preening himself in the full length mirror.

Wiggins waited, half-heartedly, after having been brusquely dismissed earlier on delivering the details of Sherlock’s escapades.

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Mycroft gave an acerbic, “Out with it,” as he walked over to the bed where he had thrown the gloves.

“Lady Malle has arrived, my Lord,” Wiggins hesitantly mumbled, head bowed, feet shifting, as if getting prepared for a safe exit.

“What on earth for?!” Mycroft exclaimed.

“Master Sherlock has sent this,” saying so, Wiggins handed over a small pamphlet.

Snatching the said paper, Mycroft scanned the detailing of the Gala printed in golden letters, inviting all the nobles, lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses.

The casual mention of announcing an upcoming event caught his eye, making him pause thoughtfully.

 

Scribbled next to it in Sherlock’s long hand was the message:

 

 

 

> _“A perfect setting for turning the tide!”_

 

Rubbing his chin, Mycroft closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and said softly, “I will be downstairs shortly. Do see that Lady Malle is waited upon and made comfortable.”

———~———

 

_ [Snowdonia Castle] _

Janine had excused herself to greet a few nobles enquiring after her uncle’s predicament, leaving Eurus unchaperoned. The crowd in the hall was oppressing, every single one of them fawning over Eurus, thinking she was the Princess of Pembrokeshire. Gracefully smiling, she slipped out.

 

Reaching the entrance to the castle, she paused, considering the consequences of her walking the gardens alone. That is when a [gleam](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/gOweK) of metal caught her eye. 

Eurus walked over to the sword and shield hanging on the wall facing the grand front door.

The gigantic shield had a skull embossed in it’s centre, with the sword passing through the back and out it’s mouth.

Any lady happening to glance on such a monstrosity would have shied away. Not Eurus. She was fascinated.

 

“Beautiful, is it not?” the smooth voice behind her did not startle her.

“Yes, it is … envisioning a future, full of strife,” Eurus subtly added, turned towards the stranger, tilted her head, smiled and curtseyed, “Your Excellency.”

“My Lady, it is a privilege, to finally meet you,” King Moriarty took her hand in his, bowed and pecked at the knuckles. “Please allow me to escort you to the gardens,” he emphasised, taking her by the arm and leading her to a French-window out into the gardens.

 

Captain Lestrade watched the interaction from a distance, as he sipped his wine. Moving away from the pillar where he was resting his back, the commander calculated the risks, deciding to keep guard, as would be expected of him, Princess or otherwise.

———~———

 

_ [Holmes Manor] _

Mycroft entered the parlour to a [sight](http://creamocrop.tumblr.com/post/57079162891/louise-as-princess-bibesco-been-a-while-since-i#notes) that would haunt his mind for years to come.

 

Malle was seated near the window, a book on her lap, that she was studying intently. The setting sun’s slanting rays illuminated her frame, her skin glowing bright, the dress adding to her serene beauty. She looked much older and he wondered how she could have grown so much in less than a week. Was it less than a week since he first saw her in Sherlock’s ‘hideout’!

 

Pursing his lips, he smacked them, hands holding the lapels of his coat, for composure. Breathing in, Mycroft cleared his throat lightly, watched her startle a little and slowly raised an eyebrow with the customary tilt of his head.

Smiling instantly with recognition, Malle rose from her seat in hurry, the book slipping from her grip. “Oh!” she exclaimed, trying to grab the heavy volume of _Irish Influences in Wales_.

It took her a few moments to realise that her grip on the book was unnecessary as Mycroft had swiftly rescued it and was gently trying to make her relinquish her hold. They rose together from their crouched position, Malle looking up at him, as he stared down at her intently, reminding her of their first encounter in the barn, outside Sherlock’s ‘hideout’.

Mycroft gave her a tight smile, took possession of the book with a questioning smirk and walked over to the fireplace.

 

“My  Lady, there are a few facts that have not been revealed, considering your safety. I feel you need to be prepared, if your are to go to the Gala and face whatever it is that is in store for you,” Mycroft sedately addressed her, book still in hand, eyes fixed on the smouldering logs.

 

———~———

“Ready?!” Sherlock barged in dressed immaculately in a snow white dress shirt, ivory coloured  [waistcoat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waistcoat#/media/File:Man%27s_waistcoat_with_corded_quilting_c._1760.jpg) and a coal black cutaway coat.

 

The beard and moustache made him look more a member of the gentry than the young Holmes boy who played ‘the brigand of the forest’.

Looking over at his brother, who was dressed in his customary [brown](https://in.pinterest.com/pin/730849845756031117/) court coat and silk vest, Mycroft looked the typical court advisor, that Sherlock abhorred! Swiftly turning away, he moved towards Malle, extended his hand and bowed, saying, “My Lady, shall we?”

Malle was taken by surprise and stunned, looked over at Mycroft for help, who simply gave a brief nod, leaving the book on the table where Malle sat and walked out of the room.

 

Slowly rising, she took his arm and walked with him towards the door. On exiting, she saw Mycroft entering what looked like a study at the far end of the corridor. Gathering enough courage Malle touched Sherlock’s arm and asked, “May I have a word with your brother?”

Sherlock looked down at her, assessing, nodded and releasing her hand, strode towards the entrance.

For a moment, Malle watched his movements, then clenching her hands, walked towards the room that Mycroft had entered.

Knocking on the open door, she watched the older Holmes stand looking out the window into the garden beyond. His fists were gripped behind his back, back ramrod straight, jaw clenched.

 

“It is late. You need to get going. I shall join you at the Gala soon,” Mycroft spoke without turning around, words clipped.

“You mentioned ..” Malle started to say, but her words were cut short by Mycroft, still gazing at the scenery, uttering each syllable with a deliberate pause, “I shall inform you as and when required.”

———~———

 

_[Snowdonia Castle]_

Lady Irene exited her carriage and turned, extending her hand to guide her daughter down the steps. As soon as they reached the entrance to the castle, a carriage swiftly arrived, bearing Lord Siarl and his son Master Harri.

Other guests drifted towards the castle, after giving the new arrivals a quick glance. Neither Lord Siarl nor Lady Irene spoke to each other nor acknowledged their presence, an avoidance obvious and also ignored by all.

The crowded entrance brought the Lady closer to Lord Siarl, who whispered, “Stay within my sight,” and moved further ahead of them.

 

Anthea, seated near the entrance to the hall, watched the interaction and searched for onlookers. Finding none, she rose from her seat and went over to greet the mother and daughter.

 

The sudden parting of the crowd alerted the women to the entrance of the King. Moving to a side, they waited with bowed heads as King Moriarty escorted Lady Eurus into the hall where most of the guests had gathered.

 

Anthea excused herself and walked towards the exit, unaware of a pair of eyes watching her movements.

 

She walked over to the footman standing at the entrance and asked, “Could you send a messenger to intercept Lord Mycroft and tell him that the King has assembled. Just in case he is late,” smiling, she added, swiftly turned around and entered the hall.

 

A strange feeling made her look around at the crowd, her searching eyes meeting an inquisitive pair on an impassive face; the eyes conveyed more than words could. Recognising her admirer as Commander Gregory, she gave a noncommittal smile and looked away.

———~———

 

The advancing of the Commander registering in the corner of her eye Anthea steeled herself to an unwanted conversation, but was surprised by a familiar tap on the shoulder. Looking around, her eyes widened at the sight of Sherlock with Malle on his arm.

 

“This was unwise!” The hissing voice near her ear was that of the Commander’s.

“Do we have a plan?”Anthea asked, trying to stall till Mycroft arrived.

“Of course we do,” Sherlock said jovially. “The two of you keep her safe while I draw attention to myself!” he added. Smiling wide he walked away, leaving a baffled Malle with Anthea and Gregory.

 

“How is my father?” Malle asked, timidly.

“My Lady, he is tired, but otherwise of good health,” Gregory replied unconvincingly.

“Has he beeninformed of the plan?” Malle found the question foolish and yet could not resist asking.

“Not that I’m aware of, my Lady,” the Commander apologetically said.

“You need to be brave, my Lady,” Anthea soothed her, holding her arm, leading her away from the centre of the hall, towards a chair by windows.

 

Gregory hesitated, then followed them. After all, his duty was to protect the Princess. She was in a vulnerable situation and his presence would lend her courage. Or so he rationalised.

 

Standing as a barrier between Lady Malle and the dais, he kept a look-out for trouble, as Sherlock advanced forward, with a purpose that attracted the attention of all guests present.

———~———

 

Mycroft glided unnoticed into the hall, a small parchment clenched in his left hand, the right fingering his waistcoat pocket. Sherlock making small talk with the King by the dais was visible from this far. Undeterred, Mycroft moved silently towards Anthea seated next to Malle, passed her the note, acknowledged Commander Gregory’s questioning eyebrow and walked forward, to the dais.

 

A few feet more to cover, King Moriarty rose abruptly, making Mycroft pause in his advance. Sherlock’s imperceptible communication with Eurus at the exact moment  gave the older Holmes an idea of the scene that was about to follow. Torn between joining his siblings and making sure Malle would be safe, he chose the former, as would be expected of him.

 

King Moriarty threw his hands wide, the crowd hushed into silence, Mycroft bowed and joined his brother by the dais.

 

“The Kingdom of Snowdonia and it’s populace  thank you all for gathering here, on this momentous occasion, for the espousal of your King to Lady Eurus Holmes,” Moriarty announced, smiling widely, enjoying the startle and hushed reprisals of the guests.

 

Turning to the still seated Princess, Moriarty addressed Commander Gregory, “Commander, do escort Princess Malle to the dais!”

Startled, yet composed, he smartly bowed, turned and gave his hand to the trembling girl, murmuring, “Trust me, my Lady.”

 

Anthea rose and assisted Malle. Moving ahead among the milling crowd she deftly secreted the note given to her by Mycroft into Gregory’s palm while pushing forward with determination.

 

 

 

> ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
> 
> _Impending Passing of Crown from Father to Daughter._
> 
> _………………………………………_
> 
> ……………………………………………………………………………………
> 
>  

 

 

———~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~——————~———

———~——————~——————~———

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having trouble with saving the details of the links. So, posting for now. Promising to update the notes at the earliest.
> 
> Thank you all for leaving kudos and comments, taking the time to read a long winded story.
> 
> There are at least two more Acts. Yes :)  
> The Gala will be Act 2 - quite a lot going on. Lavender_and_Vanilla gave the idea.  
> Then there will be the crowning/ruling of Princess/Queen Malle in Act 3.  
> Of course, mollcroft fans will have to wait for Act 3 where the relationship grows from 'banker' and 'Princess' to something much more. Will there be a happy ending? You will have to wait and find out. Sorry for being such a tease. I simply am unable to shorten the story to the interesting parts. I myself cannot wait to get there. This is the most patient I have ever been in my life. So please bear with me. I really appreciate your support.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> ................
> 
> All mistakes are mine and I will rectify them with your help.


	10. An Update - What's Happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why I haven't posted Act2 - an explanation for those who read and follow this fic.

I have finished writing Act 2. It has 2 scenes, with 8 chapters each. There is quite a lot going on and I had to introduce two new characters - King Robert of Scotland {[x](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0063227/mediaviewer/rm3267715072?ft0=name&fv0=nm0001096&ft1=image_type&fv1=still_frame)} and Sir Iain Sholto {[x](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ian_glen.JPG)}, to add to the drama and also help Sherlock with countering Moriarty's plans.

Lavender_and_vanilla suggested that maybe I should give a hint in the first Act so that the readers are not confused. I am re-reading the whole work to make it possible. Hopefully I can update in a week or two.

Thank you all those who follow this work. It is my first one and closest to my heart.

I love plays and though have always been confused by Shakespeare's method of writing, am beginning to find the beauty of it.

This story was inspired by his 'The Winter Tale.'

I'll stop now.

Looking forward to posting ..


End file.
